


Being Oblivious Isn't So Bad As Long As I'm With You

by Aiepathy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Biting, Choking, Consensual Kink, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feelings, Forced Orgasm, Friends With Benefits, From Sex to Love, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay, Praise Kink, Relationship(s), Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Safewords, Season 1! AU, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Simulated Knifeplay, Smut, Subspace, vulnerable! bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiepathy/pseuds/Aiepathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke knows the first time she and Bellamy fucked was sloppy and both were a little drunk and a little scared about the future of their people. She knows that and he knows that, and they’re okay with that. But what she doesn’t know is when it shifted from sloppy, fast hook ups to methodical and complex sex. Neither of them know and they’re both okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Princess Is Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon divergent. The Grounders exist and they are hostile in all the ways they are in the series, except that they never make a concerted attack against the dropship. The Ark may or may not have come down. It diverges from canon around episode 9 of the first season. Long story short, Bellamy and Clarke are still just trying to make sure their people survive against the odds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rope bondage, light pain kink.

Clarke knows the first time she and Bellamy fucked was sloppy and both were a little drunk and a little scared about the future of their people. She knows that and he knows that, and they’re okay with that. But what she doesn’t know is when it shifted from sloppy, fast hook ups to methodical and complex sex. Neither of them know and they’re both okay with that.

“Cum for me, Princess,” Bellamy says, biting out the words, bitterly spitting the title ‘Princess’ as though it was still the early days. His hands are similarly rough yet controlled just like the man they belong to. The callouses on his hands scratch against the sensitive flesh and his mouth latches onto her clit. One leg is pinned by his hand and the other is pinned by the order not to move it, inhibiting her ability to chase the friction she is trying to get more of just as much as the binds around her wrist which keep her from pushing her body any closer to his.

Focusing in on the dual sensation of Bellamy encompassing her lower half and the rough rope around her wrists, Clarke does just what Bellamy had told her to do. She cums. Hard.

Her body arches up towards his mouth, her legs try to clamp shut, but the hand Bellamy has on her thigh keeps them open as he pushes her through the orgasm, rubbing a calloused palm from her knee to the junction of her thighs which are shaking when she relaxes back against the makeshift bed underneath her. Her wrists had pulled against the binds that held them adding a level of pain to the orgasm which had elongated it.

Bellamy continues to touch her softly as he moves up her body to undo the rope binding her wrists. When they are free he slowly helps her lower them from above her head, massaging her shoulders as she inspects the marks the rope left. “You didn’t get off,” Clarke says as Bellamy bunches up and tosses the small blanket they had underneath them aside.

A small smile appears on his face, lips drawing up. “The princess is wrong about one thing.” Clarke’s face flushes and she doesn’t understand it. She had just had her arms tied above her head and this man’s face between her legs, but the idea that he could get off from touching her was so foreign. “Friction is a beautiful thing.” The nonchalant way he says it reminds her who is beside her; Bellamy Blake, Casanova of the Ground. “Less stressed?” Bellamy asks as he begins to redress himself.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, voice cracking a bit. Bellamy passes her the canteen that he insists she keep full. It's the one rule Bellamy really cares about. He won’t tie her up, won’t do anything dangerous enough to really help Clarke unless she's hydrated. It's his way of caring.

Bellamy continues to get dressed silently, pushing his curls back off his forehead when they fall over his eyes. Clarke thinks that while he needs a haircut, she likes how he looks with his hair grown out. She likes the way it curls and she likes the way her fingers fit so easily into it when they're free to roam as they please.

“Thanks for coming by,” Clarke says, voice stronger as Bellamy finishes lacing up his boot.

“Don’t thank me, Princess.”

And with that he's gone, ducking into the dark where everyone except the handful of guards they had set were asleep. Going back to his tent where Clarke had obstinately refused to fuck him on more than one occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/Disclaimer: Don't just get any random rope and tie your partner up, research what you're using if you are unsure because some materials can tighten unexpectedly. The entire situation here is based around two young adults using what they have in a post-apocalyptic world. They aren't following a handbook. They're pretty much making it up as they go, so if it doesn't seem safe it probably isn't because they don't know any better.
> 
> First time I've published smut, so reviews would be great.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Your Wish, My Commands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some mental versus physical pain-type stuff in this one. I don't think any warnings are really needed b/c it's all still pretty low key, but if you notice something please tell me so I can make a warning for it.

A week later she finds herself pressed up against the back of the dropship with her forehead on Bellamy’s shoulder, his hand in her pants and hers in his while he whispers in her ear.

“Look at me Clarke,” he says voice taking on the tone that Clarke can’t ignore. She looks up, eyes hooded, but mind still managing to race. Bellamy keys in on this and asks, “What do you need? You’re still in your thoughts.”

“More.”

“More what?”

“I need it to hurt, at least a little bit.” The familiar blush crawls from her chest to her face. She is comfortable with so much, but talking during sex is still something which embarrasses her; talking about needing things in sex embarrasses her; talking about needing pain is something Bellamy has assured her doesn’t scare him, doesn’t turn him off, but she’s still embarrassed that she needs it. She's still embarrassed that just fucking Bellamy Blake isn't enough for her.

“Your wish, my commands, Princess.”

And just like that there’s a shift. The hand that isn’t in Clarke’s pants gathers her hair. He pulls it sharply, the other hand still rubbing against Clarke, forcing out a moan. Clarke makes an effort to keep the eye contact Bellamy had asked for. His hand keeps a tight hold on her hair as the other leaves her pants. “Push them down to your knees.” Clarke revels in the way she has to twist to get them off, his hand remaining in her hair without giving any leeway. Her scalp screams as she bends to push them down.

“Good girl,” Bellamy says and Clarke feels her knees almost give out, the hand in her hair keeping her grounded enough to keep her feet under her. “So, is that one of your kinks?” Bellamy’s eyes are admiring almost as Clarke bites her lip silently. “Such a good girl.” Bellamy watches her and Clarke knows he sees her go a little weak at the phrase. He nods to himself, cataloguing this response. “What do you want Princess? Tell me.”

Clarke knows this is part of the game. Bellamy gets off hearing her talk about what she wants, he gets off on giving it to her.

“Fuck me.”

“I can do that, but how should I do that?” Bellamy muses. Clarke’s sure that he already knows exactly how he wants to do it. He always knows.

That idea is solidified when he suddenly drops the hands from her hair and spins her around. As the hair settles back against her scalp, Clarke moans, the pain present in a different way without the force acting upon it. He places a hand on her upper back, bending her over a bit. She braces her hands against the wall. “Don’t move Princess.”

Clarke obeys as she feels him take a step back and continues obeying as she listens to him slowly unzip his pants. She’s about to cum just thinking of what Bellamy is looking at as he slowly approaches her once again. She imagines what she looks like bent over, outside against the drop ship with her pants around her knees and her legs spread just more than shoulder width apart.

A sharp smack against her ass pulls her back to the way she feels. The metal is cool against her fingers, the air is comfortable but a little humid. “I want you to tune in. Focus on what you hear.”

Clarke does. She can hear her people going about their business. She hears Raven on the other side of the dropship wall talking to Monty and Jasper about why they shouldn’t be making new moonshine recipes unless they could avoid starting fires; she hears Miller barking orders and she hears the constant hum of chatter as the delinquents work. Without warning Bellamy sheathes his entire length into Clarke who cries out at the sudden infiltration, clenching down onto his length.

The moment she loosens her muscles he pulls out and slams in again. “Can you keep yourself balanced without your hands bracing you?” Bellamy asks, voice still managing to find that edge of control that he can shift into.

“I-” Clarke cuts her answer off with a moan as Bellamy ruts his hips against hers, fully inside her moving just enough to give her a fullness that amazes her. “I think so.”

“Give me your hands, Princess.” Clarke finds her center of balance, reaching back one hand then the other feeling Bellamy wraps his fingers around both wrists. “If this is too much at any point, tell me,” Bellamy says voice softer than before. Clarke is silent as she adjusts to the feeling of being bent at the waist with almost all of her balance reliant on Bellamy’s grasp on her wrists and his knowledge of momentum. “Hey,” he says, voice still soft. “You’ll tell me, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you. Please, Bellamy. I need it to hurt right now.”

“Oh, it will. You’re pretty strong, but I’ve been thinking that this might test out that strength a bit.”

A light bulb goes off. Of course, Bellamy doesn't just think it will look hot.

As he begins to thrust into Clarke his hands around her wrists also loosen until they’re simply there as an anchor in case she loses her balance. It’s as mental as it is physical and within minutes Clarke’s abs and thighs are aching from holding her body at such an odd angle while also fighting the momentum of Bellamy’s hips. Clarke doesn’t usually get off from penetration alone, but something about it doesn’t surprise her when she falls over the edge on a particularly hard thrust, her legs giving out as Bellamy quickly tightens the hold on her wrists, pulling her back to him as he thrusts through her orgasm as well as his.

Holding her against him, her back to his chest, Bellamy presses his lips to her shoulder, a litany of ‘good girls’ falling from his mouth, hands massaging her throbbing abdominal muscles. She pulls away first, pulling up and buttoning her pants, the only thing she had lost during the encounter.

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, stopping Clarke as she begins to leave.

“What?”

“I don’t say it often, Princess.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Just accept it,” Bellamy says, running his fingers through his hair.

And like that they part; Bellamy returning to make sure no one is goofing off on guard detail while Clarke goes to make sure that the inevitable goofing off hasn’t left anyone missing a hand.

She can’t even remember what had stressed her out so much that she had marched out of medical to apprehend Bellamy for what she had loudly made sure everyone knew was her chewing him out. It's a sort of sick habit Clarke has developed that whenever she feels like she is losing control, or like she has too much, she finds Bellamy and has him fuck her as both painfully and creatively as he can. He’s pretty good at knowing what type of pain she needs and she’s pretty good at getting him off, so she feels like it's a good deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, safesex is good, and Bellamy and Clarke are kind of figuring things out on that front, i.e. aftercare/checking in.


	3. Still Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot development is happening... in a slightly untraditional way. No actual kink in this one, but sex does happen.
> 
> Nala is an OC entirely here for plot purposes.

It’s that evening when things start to crash down.

There is no agreement in place that she and Bellamy will only be with each other. And, honestly, Clarke doesn't care whether they are fucking exclusively or not; she doesn't care until she sees one of the delinquents sitting in his lap as they eat dinner.

“Are you staring daggers at Nala or Bellamy?” Raven asks, taking a seat beside Clarke who had sat outside the radius most of the delinquents had seated themselves within.

“Neither,” Clarke says quickly.

“Yeah right,” Raven scoffs obviously not buying it, but letting it slide. “She’s making a good choice at least. That man knows how to fuck a girl.”

Yeah, Clarke thinks, he knows how to do more than just fuck a girl; he knows how to absolutely ravage one in the best possible ways. Instead of saying this, she just says, “Can we not talk about Bellamy?”

“Sorry, babe. Thought the daggers might have meant something.”

“Well they don’t.” Clarke shifts her glare to Raven who raises her hands in mock-surrender, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. They sit in silence after that. Clarke leans her head onto Raven’s shoulder, eyes following Nala who is now standing up and pulling Bellamy along with her. Clarke reminds herself that they aren’t exclusively involved with each other and that it would be a bad idea if they were, but her mind is racing, and before she knows it she’s pressing her lips against Raven’s.

Raven lifts her hand to Clarke’s cheek, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Raven’s fingers are calloused, just a little scratchy against Clarke’s cheek, but her lips are soft. There is a desperation in Clarke’s body language and a relaxed air about Raven’s that seems to create a tornado around them fueling their bodies.

“You don’t do PDA, do you?”

“No,” Clarke says not making a move to distance herself from Raven. “But I also don’t really see anyone around.”

Their lips reunite and both find themselves being caught up in the lust; hands on breasts, lips on necks, fingernails biting ever so lightly into hips.

“I love exhibitionism as much as the next girl, but I’m pretty sure that your hangup on Bellamy isn’t clouding your judgment so much as to think this is a good idea.”

“I’m not hung up on him,” Clarke argues. The look in Raven’s eye is disbelieving, but she shrugs. Her fingers are still trailing along Clarke’s lower back sending shiver up it, leaving Clarke to simply shift her hips and hope to get a little friction.

“Hey. Not judging. I’ve been dreaming about this since I forgave you for the Finn situation, so I’m taking it where I can get it.”

Clarke’s face heats up, but she also feels much more in her comfort zone. This isn’t one of the passionate, chemistry-filled and complex encounters she has with Bellamy which leave her with a rush of emotions. This is one of her closest friends talking her down from having sex in the middle of camp.

Raven’s tent is only a couple yards away. Inside Raven pushes Clarke down on the furs, following with her own body. Clarke’s shirt disappears quickly. Raven’s tongue lathes over one nipple, then the other. It’s good and Clarke knows in the past it might have even been really good, but part of her can’t help but wish her teeth, or even fingers, would latch onto one too hard for comfort.

But, the end game is just to make herself feel like she has the same options as Bellamy and in this case it means fucking someone Bellamy has fucked.

Focusing in on that goal, she turns them over, hands finding the buttons on Raven’s pants, pulling them off of her body before Raven pulls her back to her lips. Their lips meld together; tongues pressing against each other, hands finding purchase on the others bare skin. Clarke’s fingers find Raven’s folds as Raven’s mouth finds purchase against Clarke’s breast eliciting a small squeak when she unexpectedly nips at the side, trailing small, soft, and shallow bites towards the nipple which she skips over, leaving Clarke’s chest heaving. There is an eroticism about Raven’s actions that Clarke can appreciate.

Clarke feels the slickness pooling between Raven’s thighs causing her to pull away from Raven’s ministrations. She is a woman on a mission and her mission is to make Raven cum; hard, and more than once. She slides down Raven’s body leaving a trail of soft bites down the length of Raven’s torso, careful not to do more than rake her teeth across the skin.

She’s pretty sure if she wasn’t so into pain and the way Bellamy controlled it this would be the most erotic sex she has ever had.

Finding the junction between her thighs Clarke begins to stroke her folds, nose nudging at her pubic mound, upper thigh, accidentally brushing her clit. Raven’s breath hitches a little as Clarke once again brushes her clit. “Penetration or no?” Clarke asks.

She hasn’t been with many people, but there was a time period between the Finn situation and Bellamy coming into the picture where she had a couple one night stands. During that time she learned several things, among those were the fact that Monroe wasn’t a fan of penetration and Clarke wasn’t a fan of being pushed off a bed, even if that bed was less than a foot off the ground.

“Please.” Raven’s voice is breathy. It spurs Clarke on as she dips a finger between Raven’s wet folds, exhaling hot breath onto her clit, but not giving her any more friction. 

“Dammit, Griffin, you’re worse than Blake was about this teasing shit.”

“Good,” Clarke snips, mouth meeting the skin just above Raven’s clit before slowly dropping to it.

Less than half an hour later they are pulling blankets over their mutually naked bodies in Raven’s bed. It’s the first time Clarke has been with the person she has had sex with for more than fifteen minutes after the act since Finn. “Still friends, Griffin?”

“Still friends,” Clarke agrees. They don’t cuddle and they don’t talk about the sex. They get dressed the following morning and they talk about their friends, they gossip, then both head to work, a silent agreement that what occurred was a one-time thing that got both of them off; Raven physically and Clarke emotionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Surprise? Remember, though, Bellamy is just doing what Bellamy does, and Clarke does it too. He is NOT by definition cheating on Clarke because they are not exclusive.
> 
> Feedback on this scene is necessary! It's not my best writing, but it is definitely an integral aspect of the plot development. I might go in and edit some of this later, but I felt like if I didn't post it now I would talk myself out of ever posting it.
> 
> Happy New Years and I hope you enjoy.


	4. Raincheck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex in this scene. It's all plot development.

Clarke is busy. She has to deal with a mushroom poisoning incident which has left half of the delinquents hunched over puking, she has to deal with an angry Octavia who is convinced her brother is trying to ruin her life by keeping her under constant watch, she has to deal with Monty who has managed to severely burn his hand while secretly trying to build electrical sockets to power the front gate, and she has to deal with both Raven and Jasper both yelling at him about it. 

And, of course, on top of that she has to deal with Bellamy who is pacing around complaining about how little work is getting done because everybody is either sick, injured, or too worried about one of their friends being sick or injured.

Clarke’s almost relieved when the medical bay empties. She’s sent the sick kids to the perimeter with Octavia in charge of insuring that they communally puke in one area so the cleanup is easy. Monty’s hand is bandaged and Jasper is on strict orders to make sure he doesn’t continue to electrically engineer things in enclosed spaces. Raven returns, grumbling, to the walkie talkies she is still perfecting. But, of course, Bellamy hovers.

“You should invite me over tonight. You seem pretty stressed,” Bellamy says. Clarke almost drops the alcohol container she is tightening the lid onto. She returns the container to its home a little too hard as she realizes not only are her fingers trembling, but her jaw is clenched.

“I am stressed. But I’m not inviting you over.” She says this through gritted teeth, back to Bellamy.

Clarke doesn’t risk looking at him, instead busying herself with reorganizing her supplies, counting the mint leaves, shaking the ointment containers to insure they aren't separated. She does all of this as she avoids Bellamy, but she doesn't absorb any of it. “Okay.” Clarke imagines that she hears disappointment and hurt in his voice, but she steadfastly refuses to look at him. “Raincheck, then.”

“No,” Clarke says. It’s one of the hardest things she has ever done. Calling whatever she and Bellamy have off feels like she’s losing one of the most important things to her and she knows it will be hard to return to the dynamic they had before, but, Clarke reminds herself, they hated each other at one point and they still worked together.

“So, no raincheck?” Bellamy says this slowly and Clarke finally looks at him. She thinks she sees pain on his face, but it’s probably a trick of her imagination. He might like doing the things she likes being done to her, but he also seems pretty content with normal sex, so she can’t see him missing what they have going on.

“No raincheck,” Clarke affirms. She feels like her mind is falling apart and she wants nothing more than to throw herself at Bellamy and let him slow her mind down, but she can’t. She can’t do that and she can’t handle looking at his face, so she lets her eyes slide to the ground.

“I guess I knew it was a matter of time until the princess came to her senses and realized how below herself the janitor from Factory Station is,” Bellamy quips. This time Clarke knows what she hears in his voice. It’s annoyance, and resignation, and hurt. It’s the tone Bellamy gets when he doesn’t want to be the confrontative one, but he wants confrontation. He uses it most often with Octavia, tossing scathing remarks her way to bait her into fighting with him.

Her mind continues to race. It always races. She wants to scream.

“You know where you’re from doesn’t matter to me like that.”

“I don’t know that.” Bellamy’s voice is hard as he says it. His face is blocked off, emotionless in a way that is so uncharacteristic. When she realized he was hurt she expected the usual Bellamy who lashes out impulsively, but this Bellamy is resigned, as though this Bellamy was expecting this outcome.

“Seriously, Bellamy?” Clarke asks. “The reason I can’t do this is because I can’t handle thinking about you fucking someone in your tent and then coming over to mine. I’m not supposed to care that you’re with other people because what we have is just stress relief or casual sex or a weird power play, but I do. Maybe it’s something to do with the Finn situation, or maybe it’s because you understand what I need, I don’t know, but I do know that I can’t do this.”

“You’re calling it off because you don’t want to ask me to make you my only sexual partner?” Clarke remains silent. When he says it like that he makes it seem so easy. “No fucking anybody else then? Deal?”

Clarke remains silent. It should be so easy. Say yes, get to be fucked by Bellamy Blake all she wants, but she can’t force the words out, so instead she asks, “Are you going to be happy doing that?”

“There’s no one else I would rather get to have sex with on a regular basis.”

Clarke smiles, but there is still a doubt, so she says, “It’s a deal, but if you decide being with me isn’t enough you have to tell me.”

“Great,” Bellamy says with a grin which quickly fades. “You have to tell me too. If you realize you can do better or have something better, or that a monster isn’t really your thing, then you have to tell me.”

“You’re not a monster, Bellamy.” Clarke’s told him this so many times that it feels like a catchphrase. He doesn’t believe her and Clarke knows it, but she has to let him know, has to at least remind him that she doesn’t think he is a monster.

“I’m glad you think that.” They make eye contact for a moment, solemn, before it’s broken and Bellamy asks, “So, can I come over tonight or is it still a raincheck?”

“I’m not inviting you, but if you just so happen to come by after dinner I wouldn’t kick you out.” They both grin at each other before Clarke does just that; she kicks him out, telling him that if no one else is getting anything done that he needs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bellamy and Clarke are exclusively hooking up each other, but they're still saying it's just sex? How do you feel about that? Should they talk about feelings or just take what they can get?


	5. Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content ahead. I've been told it gets intense and Clarke is definitely pushed to the edge of a physical limit, so warning for that. Warning for heavy biting and pain kink as well.

Sometimes Bellamy Blake is more creative than other times. When Clarke needs more pain and Bellamy’s answer is to sink a hand into her hair and teeth into her shoulder, she assumes this isn’t one of those time. Despite this, the groan she elicits proves that the action isn’t a mistake.

Clarke is on top of Bellamy and he is inside her. His hands had been gripping her hips, controlling the movements as Clarke rode him. Needing more she had dropped her head to his shoulder and whispered, “Please.”

Bellamy’s hips jerk up as Clarke groans, his hand tightens in her hair, and she finds herself forcefully impaling her body down onto his lap, internal walls fluttering, movements quickening as Bellamy meets every movement with a thrust of his own hips. His teeth are traveling across her shoulder, grazing a patch of skin before finding a fleshy spot to sink into. He isn’t just sucking at the skin or nibbling as Raven had, his teeth will leave marks.

That thought elicits a louder moan from Clarke. Bellamy would normally remind her they need to be quieter because most of the delinquents are still milling about, but they’re both so far gone that the idea of someone hearing them just makes what they’re doing better. They’re both working so much stress out that getting caught is the least of their worries.

“Goddammit, Princess,” Bellamy groans, pushing his body up to a sitting position. Neither of them are too in character, they aren’t in the middle of a scene, and Bellamy’s voice is just Bellamy’s voice, but the pet name does something to Clarke and her hand drops to her clit, rubbing it despite how sensitive it is as she rides Bellamy. His mouth scrapes over more flesh, stubble leaving a light trail of sensation until his teeth find purchase just inches above her left nipple.

“Please,” Clarke repeats breathlessly. That’s all Bellamy really needs. His tongue is circling her nipple in an almost soothing fashion when he takes the areola in his mouth, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh. He seems to know the perfect amount of pressure as he keeps his grip on the nipple, pulling it away from her body before letting it slip out of his mouth. Clarke arches her body into the pain, reveling in it.

He continues to bite and suck at the skin surrounding her nipples, every so often tugging hard with his teeth against one, his hand drifts from her hair to the place her hand is frantically rubbing her clit. His fingers replace hers as he says, “Ride me to the pace I set.” His voice drops to the tone that had been missing and Clarke slows the pace down, matching the way his fingers move against her clit. She figures she might as well play the game. His fingers slowly increase speed, decrease again, and then rapidly increase. The entire thing is a game Clarke knows is testing Bellamy’s endurance just as much as hers.

She falls apart under his fingers as he increases the pace, but he doesn’t let up on his ministrations and his mouth doesn’t let go of her breast. His free hand does however still her hips, pulling her completely down onto his length as she falls apart. It takes every ounce of his power not to fall apart right along with her. Her walls flutter around him even as her eyes find his, as his teeth disengage from her flesh, and as her legs give out against his sides. Bellamy slowly slides out of her, lifting her hips off his; she keens, trying to grasp his still hard length and pull it back to her, but Bellamy skillfully avoids her hand knowing he can’t resist whatever Clarke has in mind.

“Patience,” Bellamy reprimands. Clarke whines, but she remains on her back where Bellamy has positioned her. He approaches again, pushing her legs back as he enters her. His fingers almost immediately begin to massage the oversensitive skin surrounding her clit; after a few more moments they find her clit.

She squirms and moans and her hips jerk wildly. Bellamy fucks her in long, deep thrusts which become short and jerky over the course of only a couple minutes. Bellamy is in a race to get Clarke off before he does. She’s already cum three times, twice before he ever entered her, and she’s so oversensitive that he almost stops rubbing her clit at one point. She pleads with him to continue touching her, to force her over the edge again despite how much her body and mind seem to be protesting the continued physical exertion.

There are tears in her eyes as she clenches down around his length which he pushes in one final time before it begins to pulse inside of her. Bellamy shudders against Clarke’s body which seems to be caught in the most intense orgasm he’s ever witnessed. She is thrashing her head and her mouth is open in a perfect ‘O’, her back is arched almost painfully and her toes are curled. Bellamy couldn’t slide out if he wanted to. Her muscles are clenched tightly around him, as though they are still trying to get something out of him despite how spent he is.

When Clarke comes down her chest is heaving and there is a small trail of tears down the side of her face. Bellamy presses his lips to the tears, the wipes them away. A series of 'good girls' fall from his mouth and in the least condescending voice he's ever said it, he tells her she is a princess. She doesn’t make an effort to cover herself or close her legs after Bellamy carefully pulls out. She continues to lay back as Bellamy inspects her for any damage. He can’t help imagining that there might be from the way he had forcefully thrust into her when she began her fourth orgasm. He’s glad to see that despite how sensitive she is, crying out if his fingers get too close to her clit, she is otherwise okay.

He talks quietly to her until she sits up, finding her way back to her head. She is smiling at him or he would be fearful that he had pushed her too far. He inspects the bites he left on her chest and he asks, “Was it too much?” He has to hear her say it’s okay, has to hear some confirmation that he isn’t a monster for how much he enjoyed seeing the split between pleasure and pain which left her with tears rolling down her cheeks. He has to hear her say he isn’t sick for enjoying the way the imprints of his teeth look littering her chest.

“It was exactly what I needed.” Clarke goes silent, glancing down and running her fingers over the bite marks on her chest. “I like when you leave marks on me.”

They fall silent, neither moving for several moments before Bellamy slowly begins to dress himself. He presses his lips to her forehead and passes her the canteen. Neither knows what to say, so it’s easier to just fall back on physical affirmation. As though falling back on her own physical affirmation, Clarke trails her fingers over the indents and bruises littering her chest for almost an hour after Bellamy leaves. She hopes the indents will remain for at least a couple days as a reminder; she knows the bruises will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this scene three different ways and this is the one I ended up with. Next chapter will be more plot development!


	6. Pretty Fucking Extensive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot development! You should get a better idea of where the canon divergence is happening as well, so some world building happens in this chapter.

The next day is Clarke’s day to bathe. Early on they had found a small inlet that was large enough to give the semblance of privacy but shallow enough to avoid radioactive river monsters and Clarke had convinced Bellamy the risk of sending people outside the camp was worth it due to the high likelihood that a lack of bathing could give birth to disease. Since then they had perfected a system which involved a guard taking ten people at a time to bathe. They use two days a week, five groups one day and four the next; each group allotted one hour. Between baths people keep clean the best they can; spritz a little water from a canteen in their hair or on their face, rub flowers on themselves, carry around a piece of fruit to alleviate the smell. On the whole, however, most people don’t really mind being dirty.

Octavia is in Clarke’s group and she walks alongside her, both scanning the trees with their eyes. When they reach the bathing spot, however, Clarke tries to separate herself. She knows what everyone will see if she takes her shirt off within reach of their eyes. Everybody fans out a bit, but they stay within a certain radius so that they can feel mentally safe. Clarke doesn’t remind them that most people are lost with groups, not because they wander off.

She travels away from the group to a spot where her form is visible but she hopes no one can make out details.

She is nude, rinsing her body with the small chips of soap Jasper had formulated when she hears someone wading through the water. She wants to dart for her shirt, grab it and cover her chest, cover the bruises and indents because while she loves knowing they are there she is terrified of the explaining that inevitably comes with someone seeing them. Instead of doing this she remains turned away, rinsing her body with the clear, shallow water which reaches her knees. She wishes for a moment the water were deeper.

“Miller sent me over. Said that he didn’t like how far off you wandered, said it left you open for attack,” Octavia explains.

“Then it obviously isn’t safe for you over here,” Clarke says. She tries to relax her voice, but it’s tight and clipped and she think she is using a tone of voice Bellamy would with Octavia. “Why don’t you go back and I’ll get dressed and follow you. I’m almost done anyways.”

“I’ll wait,” Octavia says and Clarke hears her wade through the remaining water to the nearby shore. She glances towards the bank where Octavia is pulling her pants on beside her clothes. She had obviously dressed her upper body then waited to dress her lower until she left the water.

Steeling herself, Clarke attempts to use her arms to cover her breasts, to cover the dark purple and yellow rings of bruising around her nipples and hopefully some of the red indentions as well. She emerges from the water and grabs her bra, turning away fast only to feel Octavia’s hand land on her arm and spin her back around, jaw gaping. “What the hell is all of this, Clarke?”

“Nothing, Octavia,” she says, pulling her shirt on. She reaches under the shirt to clasp the bra she had slid on. She continues to dress as Octavia stares at her. She hopes Octavia will drop it, but she knows she won’t.

A friendship has developed between them over the past several weeks. After she and Finn separated for good and Finn struck out on what he called a grand sabbatical, Clarke had needed somebody. Raven had slowly come around and they had grown close, but at first Octavia was all Clarke had. Octavia was an easy friend because she too was fighting her own war. Her war was against Bellamy and the rest of the Dropship camp; her war was against the grounders; her war was against every being inhabiting the ground. She was fighting to be with Lincoln, the grounder she had freed; she was fighting to become a warrior.

“That isn’t nothing. Who is it?”

“What?” Clarke asks deciding to feign innocence. Her chest is covered and with the marks out of sight, it’s easy enough to pretend that she doesn’t revel in the feeling of teeth finding soft flesh and the sight of raw, bruised skin.

“That’s pretty fucking extensive to pass off as nothing. Come on, Clarke. I tell you everything.”

She’s right. She does tell Clarke everything and over the past several weeks she has even slowly come forward about how deep her and Lincoln’s involvement has become. Bellamy had tried time and again to force Octavia away from Lincoln, but the grounder threat wasn’t escalating and without a threat, Bellamy lost his leverage. He still scowls, however, and he still tries to keep Octavia in camp as much as possible, but she finds ways out, she finds ways around him, and she tells Clarke about it when she needs to talk to someone. It almost makes Clarke feel bad about not telling Octavia, but in reality she knows that they are involved in two different situations. Octavia wants everyone to know and accept what she is doing. Clarke just want to continue being able to do what she is doing without judgment.

“Is it Raven?” Octavia asks. “I saw you two the other day, but I didn’t expect that was what she’s into.”

“It’s not Raven and I’m not talking about it, Octavia.” Clarke’s tone is final as she walks away, back towards the area the rest of the group is finishing dressing at. Her mind is racing. She doesn’t want people to know about about any of it, not about what she enjoys and not about who she enjoys it with. She feels like keeping she and Bellamy’s involvement a secret is a good choice; the only choice she can make. She doesn’t want people to start questioning their leadership choices; she doesn’t want anyone to have leverage over them, and she doesn’t want anyone to assume that something more than very good, very methodical and needy sex is happening between them.

She especially doesn’t want or need Octavia assuming that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. I'll be going back to school Tuesday through Friday morning, then taking several trips starting Friday over that next week, then classes again on Friday morning before leaving for another trip and finally going back again on that Monday, so I'm trying to churn out as much as I can while inspiration and time are present in the same sphere. Wish me luck in this endeavor.


	7. Safety Precautions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens and I think you get a pretty heavy dose of plot in this one. No sex scene here.

Bellamy takes a hunting party out while Clarke is away. They don’t see each other for three days until Bellamy ends up on her medical table, grumbling about how much of a waste of time her inspecting his hand is. 

Clarke is getting frustrated as he continues to hold his hand out of reach, wrapped in a torn bit of cloth. “Dammit, Bellamy, shut up and let me look at your hand.”

He reluctantly thrusts it forward. The palm is sliced open, but Clarke is glad that he or someone else in the party thought to wrap it otherwise she fears an infection might have bred in the wound. 

She dabs a small amount of alcohol on it after rinsing the dried blood away with water. She finds a small container of salve Octavia had delivered her from Lincoln while Bellamy was away. It's supposed to seal the cut off from outside bacteria while still letting it breathe. Hoping this is true, she tells him to come back in and let her look at it before dinner that evening. She also tells him to try and not touch anything with that part of his hand.

He shrugs her off, insisting that the wound is nothing and she’s worrying herself about nothing, but then he thanks her for taking the time, promising to come back in before dinner. He may not think it’s anything, but if Clarke wants to keep an eye on the wound he won’t doubt her and he won’t second guess the decision.

And he does come in before dinner, with a giant grin plastered on his face. Clarke is finishing scolding a kid for eating the mushrooms which had already proven toxic in the past when Bellamy appears. She sends the kid away with instructions to only puke in one location, telling him when he’s better he’ll need to clean it up himself as a sort of punishment.

Bellamy claps the kid on the back as he passes him. His name is Liam and he's supposed to be helping with the butchering that needs to be done after the extended hunting trip, but now he is out of commission and that means Bellamy is just as annoyed with him as Clarke. The kid scurries away faster, obviously needing to vomit and not wanting to do it in the dropship for fear of more scolding, or worse now that Bellamy had arrived.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Clarke asks warily.

He simply sits down on the medical table and thrusts his palm out letting Clarke inspect it. She is surprised at how well the salve seems to be protecting the cut and applies another layer as Lincoln had instructed Octavia should be done.

“I talked to O about something kind of interesting,” Bellamy muses. Clarke immediately understands the grin. She curses Octavia in her head, but she also finds herself smiling. Octavia, of course, went to Bellamy the moment he was alone unaware that Bellamy was the person she was trying to sniff out. Clarke had staunchly refused to answer any further questions over the previous three days despite Octavia being by her side, pestering her, every moment she wasn't with Lincoln. Octavia had guessed nearly every one of their friends, even going so far as to assume Finn was living in the woods and only coming back to mark Clarke in the dead of night. That particular theory was laughable and among the more elaborate, but not the weirdest one Octavia had concocted over the previous 72 hours.

“You did?” Clarke tries to project an unbothered air as she places the salve container back on the shelf.

“She said she saw some pretty extensive bruises and bite marks on you. Said you wouldn’t tell her who it was and that she is totally sure you have a kinky affair going on.”

“And did she say anything else?” Clarke asks.

“Wants me to figure out who it is. Says that it is totally unreasonable that you won’t tell her and that she knows you will tell me if I pry hard enough.”

Clarke coughs instead of making the quip she planned to when she feels Bellamy come up behind her. His fingers massage her sides as he whispers, “I’m kind of glad someone’s seen the marks. I want to see how they look later.” And just like that he moves away from her, perching back on the medical table as Clarke recollects her thoughts. “I’m just kind of bummed it was my sister,” he adds, that same grin plastered across his face.

“Do you want to continue? Because it was absolutely terrifying for me trying to avoid her seeing them.” Clarke’s arms are crossed over her chest as she tries to icily stare Bellamy down. She knows she’s failing, but he plays along.

“Sorry, Princess.” Bellamy doesn’t sound like he means it and Clarke feels the corner of her lips quirk up. “I did want to talk to you about something else. Are you done in here for now? I think everyone else is eating. Could we get out of here for a little while?”

Clarke agrees. She finishes cleaning up the medical bay and follows Bellamy out of the dropship. They slip through one of the larger foxholes behind the Dropship and crouch low until they’re out of sight of the guards that are posted on round the clock watches. They find the small clearing they had both used to use when camp got too restrictive. Now they don’t use it so much because they can use each other instead.

They settle in on the ground after scouting the area. Neither is worried about grounders in this particular zone. They haven’t seen them here before.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I think we need to set up some safety precautions.” The words seem to tumble out of his mouth in a form that isn’t too common for Bellamy. Normally his tone and the word choice are somewhat decided upon before he says anything, even in his rashest moments, part of a carefully constructed confidence which Clarke has slowly learned is just as much an act as hers is. This seems to be something he has tried to rehearse saying and it still nervous about.

“Like what?” Clarke asks, assuming he is talking about camp. “I think that the guard system we have is working pretty well. And the grounders aren’t a threat right now. This is about keeping Octavia in, isn’t it?” Her tone is becoming scolding and she is ready to take up for Octavia when Bellamy cuts her off.

“Not precautions for camp, safety precautions for us.” Bellamy’s voice is slower, the opposite from what his first words had been. He seems to wait, gauging her response. She nods, waiting to hear what he has to say.

The conversation isn’t what Clarke had expected and she is almost glad it’s about them and that she doesn’t have to try for the hundredth time to explain to Bellamy that he has to let Octavia grow up. Clarke, instead, assumes the conversation will be about being more careful in the future and she's kind of afraid he might suggest they stop leaving physical evidence.

“I think we need signals in case things go too far. I feel like we’re getting into territory that could easily be too much and I got a little scared last time we were together.”

“Signals?” Clarke asks. Once again the conversation isn't going where she expects it to go, so she focuses on the logistics of what he is saying, but part of her brain keys into the last words, the mention of Bellamy being afraid.

“Yeah, so, if I ask you to check in you can verbally say you’re okay but you can also maybe squeeze my fingers a certain number of times. Just to make sure your mouth isn’t ahead of your body.”

“Okay. I’ll squeeze your fingers twice to check in. Anything else?”

“I want a nonverbal signal that means stop. If you do it it means everything stops.”

“Why are you so hung up on the nonverbal thing?” Clarke asks. Bellamy looks at her a little confused.

“Do you realize how out of body you get? It’s beautiful, but it’s also really fucking terrifying, Clarke. You were bawling and begging me to hurt you last time and I was so afraid that I was going to push you too far and you would be too in your head to do anything except keep repeating what you were saying. I want a backup in case you can't say what you're thinking.”

Clarke bites her lip. She hadn’t really spent too much time dwelling on the way she got when she was in a scene with Bellamy. She had instead focused on the actions, the way she felt. Thinking about her reactions she understands his worry. “Two snaps?” Clarke asks and Bellamy nods.

“Thank you,” Bellamy says after a moment, his head resting on Clarke’s shoulder where they sit, backs against a tree. She reaches a hand up, pulling it through the knots of his hair tentatively. It’s weirdly intimate, but something about the clearing and the conversation they had just had makes it okay in the same way Bellamy pressing soft lips to cheek or forehead is okay after an emotional scene.

“Don’t thank me,” Clarke echoes his words from weeks before. They sit in their comfortable silence and both think about the way their dynamic is evolving. It was hooking up, then it was complex and methodical sex, and now there are safewords to protect one another from physical and emotional damage.

Clarke can’t help but wonder if the simple existence of a relationship between the two means physical and emotional damage is inevitable due to who they are, their overlapping roles as leaders and the world they exist in, too hostile to ever be truly safe, but she pushes that way, focusing in on the vulnerable Bellamy whose head is resting on a shoulder where there are still marks in her flesh that he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this ended up being way longer than I expected, but I felt like all of this kind of had to happen at one time. This chapter wrote itself pretty well.
> 
> Special shoutout to Wright for helping me push the final bit of characterization into it.


	8. Use Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of intense sex scene. They start to explore less of the pain kink and more of the power exchange aspect of their dynamic. Bellamy may approach a mental limit.

They hook up a couple times that week when their sex drives run high, but none of it is needy and none of the encounters are anything more than a quickie behind the dropship or in the gun shed. They don’t leave marks and it doesn’t hurts. It gets them both off and then they go about their day.

Things don’t get heavy again until Clarke is on her knees in the clearing, stroking Bellamy, his back pressed against a large tree. The twigs poke at her knees but she doesn’t mind, she kind of likes the way it grounds her. Her hot breath fans out across the head as she leans towards it. She licks along the pronounced vein on the underside and smears the precum gathering on the tip over his length. She takes him into her mouth shallowly a couple times, working up speed and depth. She tries to push further down, but Clarke isn’t accustomed to deep throating and she can’t go as far as she would like before she has to back off.

She tries again and she feels her gag reflex flutter. She backs off, but feels Bellamy’s hand sink into her hair. It isn’t rough and it isn’t pulling, it’s just there as a sort of attempt to ground himself. Clarke pushes down again. Bellamy is salty and a little musky, but Clarke doesn’t really mind.

She tries to relax her throat, tries to push further, testing herself and when she feels her gag reflex flutter this time she also feels Bellamy’s hips jerk a little, pressing against it harder for a split second.

Clarke pulls away fast, continuing to work Bellamy with her hand as she swallows, trying to relax her throat which hadn’t expected the sudden intrusion.

Clarke looks up and finds Bellamy with his eyes a little wide, apologizing to her. She also feels his hand loosening in her hair and realizes at some point it had tightened.

“Stop apologizing. I think we should try.” Clarke pauses continuing to look up at Bellamy. “I have nonverbal signals so now is as good of a time as any to try it out.”

Clarke doesn’t have to clarify what she is talking about. Bellamy had mentioned something about it to her a couple weeks before, but neither had decided to pursue the idea further. Blowjobs weren’t really Clarke’s thing anyways, so there weren’t a lot of opportunities to test this out. “You sure?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke doesn’t hesitate when she says, “Use me.”

Those two words seem to spur Bellamy on because one hands tightens in her hair, the other bracing against the tree behind him. Clarke tries to relax her throat, putting herself in the correct mindset as Bellamy slowly begins to slide in and out of her mouth. He doesn’t go deeper than Clarke would at first, doesn’t even get close to her gag reflex. Clarke is squirming, she didn’t think she would be so into this, but anything that leaves Bellamy in control seems to get her off, so she shouldn’t really be surprised. It isn’t about the pain and it isn’t about being rough at the moment, it’s about Bellamy holding all the cards.

Deciding to see if he’ll give or not, Clarke tries to push forward, tries to take him deeper, but the hand in her hair tightens, refusing her the leverage and he instead pulls his length away from her mouth entirely.

“I’m in charge here, Princess. I’ll set the pace.”

Clarke whines for show, watching his length twitch at the sound, before she feels him guide it back to her mouth. She reaches up to help, but the look he gives her stills her hands which find their way without order behind her back. Clarke is still shocked sometimes by how easy giving control up to Bellamy is when they’re in a scene.

“Such a good girl, you know exactly what I expect.”

Clarke feels a shiver go through her body. He is still moving in and out of her mouth slowly and mostly in shallow thrusts, she is still hollowing her cheeks to give more friction every couple thrusts, and she is still prone, stuck where she is both by the hand in her hair and the look in his eyes. The one thing that has changed is Bellamy telling her what a good girl she is, how good she is doing, and Clarke is pretty sure she just found another thing she enjoys. She fucking loves being praised by Bellamy.

She tries to grind her thighs together, tries to get some friction, as he makes a deeper thrust this one bumping her gag reflex. He continues to deepen the still slow thrusts until his hand tightens in her hair. He presses forward this time, pushes past her gag reflex and holds it there, her throat fluttering and squeezing around him. One palm finds his thigh, presses into it but when he almost lets up, she squeezes two of his fingers twice before her palm disappears behind her back again. Her brain is screaming that she should be battling for air, should want the thing infiltrating her throat to leave, but she doesn’t. She wants to feel the weight of Bellamy on her tongue forever, pressing against her throat, ruining her without even trying.

Bellamy begins to thrust harder. A set of rapid, deep thrusts occur, a flurry of shallow hip spasms barely pushing the tip past Clarke’s lips, and then the odd thrust which pushes in as far as it can, hips rocking against Clarke’s mouth. Most of the thrusts aren’t anywhere near her gag reflex, she knows Bellamy is being mindful of that, but when one does go that extra distance it’s just as hot despite the discomfort.

Clarke is squirming. Dammit, she wants friction.

She feels Bellamy lose some of the control he has over the patterns he has created and instead she begins to feel him fucking her mouth in the same way he would fuck any other part of her. She asked to be used and she is loving that feeling. She is mindfully flexing her throat around him, swallowing back most of the bile and saliva which are pushing their way forward. A bit does drip out despite her efforts, but it just seems to spur both of them on, makes what they’re doing that much edgier.

Bellamy mutters filthy things to her as he starts to approach the edge. He tells her how much of a good girl she is, how perfect her mouth feels, about all the other things he wants to do to her, he talks about using her for his pleasure just like she asked, he talks about how she looks on her knees in the middle of a clearing just outside camp, gagging and gasping for air around his cock because she wants to please it so bad.

“Touch yourself.” It sounds like a command even though his voice is a little wrecked. Clarke doesn’t waste time dropping a hand to her soaked, panty-covered crotch. Her fingers find her clit which has been begging for contact and begins to work against it.

When Bellamy does cum, he pushes in, head bumping the back of Clarke’s throat, painting it with his semen which Clarke does her best to swallow. Bellamy sinks to his knees almost immediately after he slides from her mouth, his hand replacing hers as he pushes her through an orgasm, murmuring about how good she is and how beautiful she looks being pulled apart.

When they both come down they sit side by side, catching their breath. Bellamy’s lips are pressed to the side of her head as he continues to shower her in compliments. It wasn’t necessarily the most taxing scene for Clarke either emotionally or physically. She would still argue the most intense was the first time they were together after agreeing to be exclusive. She had been pushed to her physical limit multiple times in that encounter. But here, in Bellamy’s mind, she had given him more power over her and the scene than ever before. She didn’t ask to be hurt or controlled, she asked to be used. It was the most taxing scene they had experienced for Bellamy because he had so much control and he had to trust Clarke not to let him over exert that power.

“I like how forcefully you took control of the scene,” Clarke says, voice sounding a little hoarse, sounding ruined. It sends shivers down both of their spines. She has gotten into the habit of giving feedback after they try something new or go farther in something old. She is slowly learning that it helps Bellamy be more comfortable with his role, it helps him push away the idea that he must be a monster for enjoying the things he does.

“Is that something you’re interested in exploring more in the future?” Bellamy asks.

“I think so. Also, I kind of brought up the using me thing. I think it could be fun to explore more in the future." The words sort of tumble from Clarke's mouth. She still isn't sure how she wants to articulate what she is asking because she isn't sure if it will push Bellamy outside his limits. He is into a lot, but Clarke doesn't want to push him so she asks, "Any new kinks come out of that?”

“You asked me to use you for my pleasure and I’ve never felt more turned on,” Bellamy admits. He looks down now, picking at a scab on his arm.

“Look at me.” Clarke grasps his chin in her hand and turning his face to her. Their gazes meet, Bellamy’s reluctant. “It’s okay to like this Bellamy. It’s okay that it gets you off. It’s better for me knowing that it’s something you are genuinely interested in and not just something you’re doing because you know I like it.” She isn't lying. She wants to ask Bellamy to use her in one of their scenes in the future in a much more complex way she doesn't understand entirely and now knows it is a possibility because he has vocalized his interest.

Bellamy nods. He isn’t completely comfortable with how much he enjoys seeing Clarke bent to his will, but he is becoming more okay with it.

They sit in the clearing longer than they’ve ever stayed together after a scene. It’s an hour if not more before they begin the short walk back to camp. They’re silent most of the time, but something about being with each other after this particular scene feels important, so neither breaks the silence and neither speeds up their pace.


	9. The Sadistic Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot and lots of Octavia!

“I wish you would talk to me,” Octavia says as she and Clarke walk towards Lincoln’s cave. Neither had mentioned to Bellamy that they were planning to meet him. Bellamy doesn’t trust Lincoln and doesn’t want Octavia visiting him. Despite this, Clarke needs more medical supplies and Lincoln had told Octavia that if they wanted to start a medical supply trade, he would need to talk to Clarke face to face.

Clarke is kind of nervous as they travel towards his cave. She has only seen Lincoln a handful of times since Octavia released him and he still intimidates her a little. This conversation, however, intimidates her more.

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Bullshit.” Octavia is leading the way and she suddenly spins around, eyes piercing Clarke. “Just give me a hint. You’re so freaking happy and shit, I just want to know who is making you this happy.”

“You don’t really want to know, O.”

“Yes, I do.” Octavia’s voice is whiny as they begin to walk again. “I don’t understand how you haven’t told me or Bellamy. You’re with one of us almost all the time.”

Clarke is glad Octavia isn’t looking at her because she can’t keep the smile off her face when she hears mention of Bellamy. Oh, Clarke thinks, he definitely knows who she is involved with and exactly how deep it is.

They continue to walk for several minutes in a mindful silence until Octavia stops in her tracks and whirls around to face Clarke. She trips over a protruding tree root due to the sudden movement, but regains her balance to find Octavia with her jaw is almost as slack as it had been when she first saw the marks littering Clarke’s chest and the understanding and enlightened look on her face tells Clarke that Octavia might just have figured it out.

“Bellamy,” Octavia says, a grin forming. “My brother is the sadistic bastard who is making you so happy.”

“Shut up, Octavia.” Clarke continues to walk in the direction she remembers Lincoln’s cave being. Octavia’s fingers curl around Clarke’s forearm, stopping her once again. “What?” Clarke asks, her tone guarded. Octavia had told her she would accept her and whoever it was no matter what, but Clarke just can't imagine Octavia being okay with it now that she knows it's Bellamy.

“I won’t mention it. I just wish one of you would have told me.” Octavia’s grin is gone, her tone and face equally serious. Clarke smiles softly despite her heart racing a million and two miles per hour.

“You don’t think it’s disgusting, do you?”

“Oh, I definitely think you and my brother being involved is totally disgusting.” The grin is back on Octavia’s face as she drops her hand from Clarke’s forearm, brushing past Clarke and continuing towards Lincoln’s at a clip. “But you and my brother being into weird shit? I should have called it when you two stopped biting each other’s throats in front of everyone. You were obviously too busy biting each other in private.”

The two continue in a peaceful silence towards Lincoln’s cave, Octavia tossing an offhanded comment at Clarke every so often, either poking fun or actively trying to dig details out of her. Clarke tries to deflect most of them and airs her discomfort in talking about it, but in reality it feels good to know her best friend is okay with it and doesn’t think it's too weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but I believe it's time people start finding out about their involvement. Octavia would definitely key in after a while, though I assume Lincoln probably had to help draw the picture when she complained to him about how evasive both were acting.


	10. Medicine, Bell. Not Bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're Back Bitches!" ~Octavia Blake

Of course, when things get easy or good something has to blow up.

“Where have you two been? And what is all this?” Bellamy asks, spinning to look at them from where he hand been pacing in front of the foxhole. His hands are pointing accusingly at the three duffle bags they had slid through. Octavia and Clarke both know they should have told someone to cover for them, but they had hoped that they could be back before it became a necessity. Obviously that hadn't worked out too well.

“Medicine, Bell. Not bodies.” Octavia sounds unbothered as she picks up one of the duffle bags, but Bellamy doesn’t let her pass.

“I have every guard on lookout trying to spot you two. Where did you get this from?” Bellamy’s tone is demanding and his face is clouded over with anger.

“Where do you think?” Octavia asks. Her body language is tense, but her tone is relaxed. Clarke knows Octavia is the one baiting Bellamy this time.

“Goddammit, Octavia. I told you to stop seeing him.” As though remembering Clarke, he whirls on her and demands, “How could you just decide to leave camp to meet up with a grounder without telling anybody? You know how dangerous that is, Clarke.”

“Last I checked, I don’t answer to anybody here, and Octavia took me to a friend who doesn’t want to see all of our people die, so I think it would be a lot more dangerous for me to have refused to go.”

“You could have been walking into a trap. He's a grounder and you just decided to waltz into his cave in hopes of getting medical supplies.”

“Don’t talk about Lincoln that way.” Octavia is practically growling now, all relaxed elements gone from her voice. Both siblings eyes are flaming as they glare at each other. Clarke is angry at Bellamy's stubborn nature, but, in reality, she just doesn't feel anger as passionately as the two siblings do. In reality, she just wants to put up the medical supplies and deal with this overreaction later.

“He is the enemy, Octavia.”

“I told you not to talk about him that way.” Octavia’s voice gets louder, challenging Bellamy, her hands seem ready to shove him and his are balling in fists at his side. Clarke knows neither sibling will back down and despite wanting to see Octavia get a good swing at Bellamy, she has to stop it before both cross boundaries they can’t come back from.

“This conversation is done.” Clarke’s voice seems to startle the two siblings who level equally fiery gazes on her. “Octavia, take some of the supplies to medical and start unpacking them. Bellamy, call off your manhunt.” Both seem to want to challenge the order, so Clarke says, "We'll all fight it out later, but for now we need to keep this camp functional and calling an alarm like you did Bellamy is not the way to do that."

As Octavia checks Bellamy with the duffle bag hanging over her shoulder, she grumbles about the stick up his ass. Bellamy turns on his heels, stalking away after regaining the balance Octavia had thrown off, muttering about how he has to look out for everybody’s well-being. Clarke is also very much sure she hears a string of curses and the term ‘princess’ fall out of Bellamy’s mouth, but she chooses to ignore it.

When both are gone, Clarke takes a moment to compose herself before shouldering the remaining two duffle bags, taking them to the medical bay. She just wants to unpack supplies and deal with the drama between the Blake sibling at a much later date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was in my drafts and is totally unedited, but I felt like you deserved something seeing as I've been remarkably busy as of late.


	11. Simply Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been ridiculously busy and uninspired, but this exists. Minimal editing, so please forgive mistakes (point them out in the comments if you would, please).

“Blake is storming around camp and snapping at anyone who dares breathe wrong,” Raven complains as she sits down across from where Clarke is mixing up new batches of ointments from the supplies Lincoln sent. Clarke nods, vaguely listening. “What pissed in his moonshine?”

Clarke finishes pouring the liquid she’s been measuring and says, “He didn’t like Octavia and I meeting with Lincoln without telling anyone.”

“He’s an idiot,” Raven surmises. The two friends continue to work in silence; Clarke mixing her ointments while Raven tinkers with some walkie talkies.

In her tent that night, Clarke can’t sleep, so she begins to sketch maps of Lincoln’s cave; the route there as well as the landmarks on the way. Clarke has recurring nightmares that if she dies, or if Bellamy, or Octavia, or any of the others dies without having sketched maps of the areas only they have been to that the camp will be left with ridiculously large blind spots. If she or Octavia dies, Clarke has to know that Lincoln's help can still be utilized. It helps her sleep in an odd way to feel the maps tucked away under her makeshift bed.

Clarke doesn’t look up when she hears her tent flap open. She knows who it is and she doesn’t want to look at him right now.

“We need to talk.”

His voice is gruff and she can hear his booted feet scraping against the ground in the doorway of her tent. She hears the tent flap fall back and she begins to fold the map, placing it and her pencil aside. Clarke looks at him but doesn’t speak. She steadfastly promises herself she won’t be the one to break this silence, she won’t be offering an olive branch this time.

“I’m not in the wrong for worrying,” Bellamy says. Clarke narrows her eyes at him. He holds his hands up in a placating manner and continues to say, “I’m not in the wrong for worrying, but I probably could have handled it better. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries with you. It’s just kind of hard not to.”

“You don’t control what I do or where I go, Bellamy. Make sure you’re aware of that in the future.”

Bellamy simply bows his head in response. The two are silent, but neither tries to fight the other. Neither tries to bait the other into reigniting the argument and neither questions the others motives or character.

After several moments of this silence Clarke shifts her body so that there is room for another to sit beside her. Bellamy takes the seat and Clarke’s head finds it’s way to his shoulder. Sometimes it’s easier to accept someone’s presence than their apology, Clarke decides, and as Bellamy's arm finds her shoulder and his lips press into the crown of her head she's pretty sure he understands. They are both stubborn and they're both leaders, but whatever they have between them is maturing and is learning that being right isn't as important as simply being.


	12. Patterns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot.

Clarke slowly wakes up as day breaks, her head on Bellamy’s chest with one of his arms encircling her waist. Her chest presses into his side and one of her legs is slung across his body. She takes a few seconds to admire the freckles that adorn his resting face before she tunes her ears into the sounds of camp awakening.

Those sounds spur her to gently shake Bellamy who makes several unintelligible noises before opening one eye and murmuring, “It’s daybreak. Let’s sleep in a little while.”

“Exactly,” Clarke says. “It’s daybreak and you need to get out of my tent before the rest of camp wakes up to watch your walk of shame.”

“It’s not a walk of shame.” Bellamy’s eyes are closed but his face has once again picked up its usual guarded expression. His voice is tight and Clarke has to remind herself that the confident Bellamy who everyone else sees is somewhat a facade. She has to remind herself that one of Bellamy's biggest fears and hangups is for someone to be ashamed of him. She has to remind herself that his childhood shaped his perspective as much as hers shaped hers, and that Bellamy's childhood was one of shame and deceit. She knows he is tired of hiding things.

“I just don’t think it’s for the best if people start believing that we’re involved. It will create question about our leadership abilities. It will give people reason to doubt our decisions and to question them.”

“It’s just fucking. Everybody does it.” Bellamy runs slow fingers up and down Clarke’s back, pushing the back of her shirt up to trace patterns on bare skin.

She wants to relax against Bellamy's body and decipher all the patterns meanings, but she can't, so she repeats his name, "Bellamy." She hopes her tone will convey how she feels. Then again, she isn’t really sure how she feels and maybe that's the problem. Part of her wants to stay here forever, in a place where there are no complexities, where there are only freckles and warm flesh. The other part of her knows it isn't possible and that when both of them open their eyes the reality is that they have people to take care of and that their involvement only becomes prioritized so that both remains functional in their roles.

“Okay, I’m gone, Princess.” Bellamy doesn’t make a move despite his words for a good minute. Finally he loosens the arm around Clarke’s waist allowing her to roll off the makeshift bed. He soon follows, stretching as he sits up. Both are fully clothed sans shoes.

Clarke bends over to tighten the lace on one shoe and Bellamy’s fingers find the small of her back, tracing the seemingly same pattern across her back as he had in bed. Clarke tries to figure out what the patterns are, but gives up deciding they're simply randomly formed letter-like symbols. She gives up, deciding that she likes being able to ascribe meanings to them that only she can imagine.

His hand retracts as she stands back up. And in an increasingly domestic fashion Bellamy drops his lips to her forehead before dipping out of her tent into the gray of the early morning. Clarke stands still for a moment thinking about the way her mind is racing in an entirely new fashion. She knows she can’t be emotionally interested in Bellamy past a physical representation of need, but part of her mind isn’t opposed to spending more time wrapped fully clothed in Bellamy Blake’s arms, whatever that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting somewhere no matter how slow it's happening all of a sudden.


	13. Missed You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very vanilla sex scene ahead. Vulnerability and all that jazz is involved.

Bellamy and Clarke walk on eggshells for almost a week. They eat their meals together and talk logistics, but they barely touch each other or make eye contact. At the end of that week Bellamy leaves for a short two day hunting and scouting trip and Clarke finds herself more sexually and emotionally frustrated than she has been in a long period of time. It’s the evening of the second day of the expedition and Clarke knows that the party should be back anytime, but she still finds herself with her lower body covered in only thin cotton panties, propped up on the furs on her bed, shirt rucked up to her neck. Part of her doubts Bellamy will come check in with her like he normally does, so she decides she won't wait for it.

Clarke’s fingers travel lightly over her stomach which tenses and relaxes under her touch. Her fingernails bite into the sides of her stomach and they travel up towards her breasts, slipping into her bra to fondle them. As she squeezes and pinches her nipples her mind fills with thoughts of Bellamy’s larger hands. Hers are calloused but not in the way Bellamy’s are and she imagines his fingers touching her instead of hers.

Her mind flashes to a particularly vivid, but vanilla encounter with Bellamy and her fingers travel from her breasts to the tops of her panties. She wants to feel his teeth, hear his voice telling her what to do, but instead she slips her fingers into her underwear imagining it’s Bellamy’s hand. She tries to imagine his voice as well, but the only words she’s heard him speak for the past week are “grounder”, “security”, and “are you sure you’re okay?”, so she gives up on that course of fantasy.

Parting her folds she dips her fingers between them, feeling how wet and sensitive she is. She is still tense and she needs to get off. She is in her head and assumes her fantasy has found a way around a roadblock when she hears an all-too-familiar voice say, “God, I’ve missed you.”

She realizes it isn’t part of the fantasy when those words are followed by the sound of her tent flap rustling and a curse from Bellamy who quickly pulls her tent flaps closed to hide her form from any passing eyes. He is apologizing and his eyes are trained above her. “I’ve missed you too,” Clarke murmurs, her hand not leaving her panties. Her hooded eyes train in on Bellamy and his slowly fall to her realizing that she isn’t mad at him and that he isn’t infringing on her privacy. “I really need you, Bellamy.”

As though hearing his name sets him to action Bellamy says, “Take your panties off and touch yourself for me.” His voice drops to the tone that Clarke had been trying to imagine.

She quickly complies as he kicks off his shoes in the doorway.

Bellamy’s hands splay over her thighs pushing them open as Clarke touches herself. She feels exposed and her flesh glows a bright red and she can feel her orgasm working up fast and strong. Bellamy’s fingers rub against her inner thigh and part her lips as she rubs her clit.

The orgasm falls over her pretty soon after Bellamy’s fingers begin to touch her. She loves the way his callouses feel and she loves how his dark, freckled flesh looks against her pale, pink skin.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m so sorry for not making sure things were okay before I left. I need you more than I want to admit and I’ve missed being with you.” Hearing Bellamy’s voice so vulnerable as she comes down from her orgasm is reassuring to Clarke in a way. It reminds her that he is also invested in whatever they are doing.

Clarke pulls Bellamy to her, situating his head on her shoulder. Her fingers find his hair and begin to slowly pull through it, working the knots out semi-methodically. Both relax into the rhythm until they feel the pull of sleep and give into it with Bellamy cradled in Clarke's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great. I'm having a serious lack of inspiration recently.


	14. Finn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More rope bondage.

“I need to talk to you,” Clarke says interrupting a conversation Bellamy is having with Miller. It’s getting late and people are mostly around the fire eating or socializing, some having already retired for the night.

“Okay. What is it?”

Clarke wants to strangle Bellamy for the intent way he and Miller are both looking at her.

“It’s private.”

A look of understanding enters Bellamy’s face. He quickly composes it, a short and sharp nod signifying his understanding. Clarke hears Miller mutter something to someone passing about how she never relaxes and Clarke doesn’t know if she wants to verbally agree or laugh with the knowledge that she is pulling Bellamy away from dinner to fuck her, not to talk logistics.

“Private, you say?” Bellamy’s tone is teasing as he follows her to her tent. Clarke rolls her eyes. She is slowly learning to pick her battles with Bellamy and at this moment all she wants to do is give up some control seeing as she can’t seem to get the other types of control she wants. “You sure you’re okay with the tent? A lot of people are still out and about.”

Clarke has already thought about this and she is very okay with it. “I want to use the ropes and my tent is the only place that can happen, so we just hope that the rest of the camp knows how to announce their presence, unlike some people.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining last time I walked in without announcing myself.” Clarke glances over her shoulder at the smirking man behind her. Seeing his face, lips cocked up and eyes daring her to argue, Clarke picks up her pace. She needs him. Bellamy maintains the same distance until they reach Clarke’s tent at which point Clarke tries to loudly say something about the food supplies in her usual attempt to allay suspicions. Bellamy believes not saying anything would be better, but Clarke can’t leave things to people’s imaginations. Her runs far too wild and jumps to far too many conclusions to do that.

“Two things before we do anything,” Bellamy says once they are inside the tent, his hands grasping hers to stop her from immediately removing her shirt. Clarke stills her hands and looks at him expectantly trying to implore him to hurry up and say what he needs to. “First, what has you so anxious?” Clarke is a bit taken aback. His face is soft and imploring. Bellamy hasn’t questioned her motives in the past and Clarke finds herself a little too aware of the direction she has been feeling their arrangement moving. “Don’t look so surprised, Princess.” Bellamy’s guard seems to immediately emerge again. “I have to be able to live with myself. I mean, if the ark touched down and you were holding me hostage I would like to know.”

“Finn’s back.”

Clarke watches Bellamy’s face drop the mask. She isn’t sure what the emotions she is witnessing are, but the harder mask Bellamy used to wear reappears.

“Are you here to prove that you don’t still love him?” Bellamy’s eyes are closed and Clarke feels her brain and body short circuit at the same time.

There’s a pause, a silence. A response. “No.”

“Were you planning on telling me? Or were you just going to hide him away?”

“Octavia is taking care of him. He’s slightly dehydrated, but fine otherwise. He’ll be spending a couple nights in the dropship under other people’s watch. I was going to tell you. I just needed to get my thoughts together.”

“Okay.” Bellamy’s vocalization is a concession, but she feels like this conversation isn’t over. Clarke is glad it’s over for at least a little while. She begins to lift her top again. She still needs him, but Bellamy stills her hands again and says, “One more thing?”

“What?”

“How do you want to be tied?”

“Surprise me?”

“Can do.” Bellamy’s face settles and his shoulders roll back. Both need the release and the air quickly recharges as Bellamy pulls Clarke’s shirt over her head roughly, discarding it in the corner of the tent. Both kick out of their shoes.

Clothes are quickly discarded on Clarke’s part. Within a matter of moments she is standing naked, arms clasped behind her back while Bellamy stands in front of her in just his pants. “Turn around.”

Clarke promptly follows the order, hands still clasped behind her back. “I’m going to bind your wrists here.” Bellamy’s fingers ghost over her wrists following the path he intends to take the rope. “Then, I will bind your elbows here.” Once again his fingers ghost along the path he intends to take the rope around her elbows. “It’ll leave you pretty much incapable of moving your arms, but I’m assuming control is what you want to get rid of right now?” The last part is phrased almost as a question.

“Yes,” Clarke says. She means it to sound like a strong affirmation, but it comes out a little breathless despite Bellamy having only ghosted his fingers over her body.

Bellamy’s fingers press into the flesh at Clarke’s elbows where his hands have come to rest. Clarke wants to press back against him, feel his body along hers, but she also wants to feel the ropes being tied, and she feels like the Finn bombshell has left both far enough gone that if the former happens first the latter won’t.

“You know your signals?”

“Yes. Squeeze two fingers to check in. Two snaps means stop.”

“Perfect, Princess. It’s really important you check in if you feel my fingers in your palm especially with your arms bound this way. And it’s really important you tell me if you are losing feeling or it gets uncomfortable in a way you don’t think it should be.

“Okay.” Clarke’s agreement is met with eye contact from Bellamy whose body is still behind her, if a bit to her side. Bellamy’s hands find her sides and run up and down them raising goosebumps across Clarke’s flesh. One of Bellamy’s hands travels around Clarke’s body where it rubs circles down the length of her stomach before running through her curls. Clarke moves to widen her stance, but both hands disappear as Bellamy moves to retrieve the ropes.

Clarke’s body begs her to follow Bellamy and let him fuck her without all the powerplay, but her mind knows she needs this. She needs Bellamy to take control and she needs to have control taken from her.

Bellamy returns to her with the ropes. He settles in behind her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, massaging out any tension he can. He moves up to her back and Clarke begins to relax into his touch as he works the knots out of her shoulders.

Clarke feels like putty by the time Bellamy is satisfied she is relaxed enough for her arms to be bound. The small part of her mind still functioning keys into the mindfulness Bellamy is treating her with and wants to question whether it’s a new level of their relationship or if it’s a response to Finn’s return. The feeling of ropes wrapping around her wrists abruptly end that curiosity as the familiar buzz of being restrained kicks in.

Bellamy finishes the ties on her wrists and spends a moment inspecting them before laying two fingers in Clarke’s hand. She obediently squeezes them, a blissed out and buzzy smile plastered on her face as he begins to wrap the rope up her arms to her elbows where he ties it off. He makes sure they won’t slip, then makes sure they aren’t too tight and in a way that almost annoys Clarke places to fingers in her palm again. She squeezes them.

“You look amazing.” Bellamy’s voice whispering in Clarke’s ear electrifies her body. His voice has the usual drop in it, signifying his control of the situation. “I can’t wait to fuck you like this.”

Clarke moans. She wants to beg him to fuck her like this. She thinks back to their encounter behind the dropship where her arms had been bound by his hands as she bent over. She can only imagine how much better it will be with her arms truly bound. She hopes that is Bellamy’s intent.

Bellamy’s lips find the place where Clarke’s neck meets her shoulders and as one of his hands falls back to her curls, this time allowing her to widen her stance, his teeth also find that spot. His teeth sink softly into tender flesh as his fingers softly part tender flesh. Bellamy runs his fingers over and between her lips before pushing two digits in.

Clarke is squirming, trying to force him to apply more friction when she feels the bulge in his pants come to rest heavily upon her bound hands. She assumes this isn’t happenstance and begins to work her hands over his length which is still shrouded in two layers of material. His hips jerk and his fingers inside her do as well. As though in response he pushes a third finger in as Clarke unzips his pants. She can’t reach high enough to get the button but his free hand which had been digging into her side pops the button open to remedy the problem. His fingers leave her and while Clarke wants to protest, she knows that having him inside her is what she really wants.

She is dying to feel his hips snap against hers, feel him fuck her as hard as he can. It’s what she needs.

Bellamy’s length, freed from his pants, comes to rest against the curve of her ass. It’s heavy and hot. One of Bellamy’s arm wraps around Clarke’s midsection, pulling her to him. Clarke rolls her hips back as Bellamy situates the head at her entrance.

The ropes around Clarke’s arms add an extra level as Bellamy pushes into Clarke, both standing, her back to his chest, her bound arms trapped between their bodies. She enjoys the bite of the ropes, the way the angle he is fucking her at is too tight, the way his teeth find purchase across her back. She enjoys feeling Bellamy take control and she enjoys knowing that she feels safe with him. She enjoys it as the orgasm rises and she still enjoys it as he unwraps the ropes, and she still enjoys it as they both admire the marks left on her arms. She especially enjoys it when Bellamy calls her a princess and it isn’t in a condescending tone. When he tells her the way she gives up control is beautiful she realizes she might feel more than simple enjoyment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, if you go back to Chapter 6 there is mention of Finn 'taking what he called a grand sabbatical'. He pretty much got overwhelmed and struck out on his own Into the Wild-style. He has now returned. More description of the situation will given in the next chapter.


	15. Is That The Best You Can Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, then sex. Choking kink, but, like, not really.

Clarke and Raven find each other the following day. The camp is abuzz with Finn’s return and thanks to Octavia neither has been face to face with him for more than a handful of minutes. Clarke had only seen him long enough to insure he was physically intact before delegating his care to Octavia the previous night.

Clarke is sitting next to Bellamy that night with Raven seated across from them when Finn approaches them. He greets them as though nothing is awkward, as though he hasn’t been gone for months. Bellamy’s hand had been resting between him and Clarke on the log they are sitting on. His fingers inch closer, brushing the side of her thigh.

“Why are you back?”

The bluntness with which Raven says it shocks the group. She had been the last to let him go, the last to truly acknowledge how in the wrong he was.

“I worked through everything. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed both of you- all of you.” The last part is tacked on as though he realizes he has admitted something he isn't allowed to feel or think.

Clarke feels Bellamy tense. Finn’s eyes flit between Clarke and Raven. They are pleading and Clarke can’t help but wonder if he’s just waiting to see who will give in first.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Finn. I can’t talk to you.”

Raven says this with a surprising finality, standing up and walking away abruptly. Clarke knows what happened the last time Raven walked away from Finn and that stays in her mind when she glances down at Bellamy’s hand beside her. She wonders where Raven will turn this time and just hopes she doesn’t put herself in danger or act too impulsively.

Clarke is brought back to Finn’s presence when Bellamy begins to stand up. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

“I’ll find you later, okay?” Clarke needs confirmation from Bellamy.

“Whatever you want.” Bellamy doesn’t look back when he says this. He continues to walk away.

Finn sits down on the log beside Clarke. They are silent for several minutes before Finn says, “I’m sorry for how everything went down.”

Clarke doesn’t know how to respond so she remains silent. She doesn’t want to speak to Finn, or see him. She had enjoyed being able to believe he was okay. That he was somewhere living off the land at peace with himself. She had enjoyed not having to deal with the drama he had brought down upon her life.

“Have you been okay?”

“I've been great. I’m the happiest I've been since we got here.” Clarke intends for her words to cut. She wants him to know that she is happier and more fulfilled now than at any point during their involvement.

There is a silence before Finn asks, “Is Raven okay?”

“She was.”

Finn blanches at the past tense response, but barrels on. “The Grounder threat?”

“Gone for now.”

Clarke still hasn’t really looked at Finn, but her eyes fall on him when he asks his next question.

“Is Bellamy good for you?”

As she tries to process the question she can’t help but notice that his hair has been cut and the small beard he had walked into camp with has been shaven. He looks like the Finn that walked away. Despite how similar he looks, Clarke knows she has changed. She isn’t the girl who has just lost a father, a best friend, and is in need of stability. She is a leader who has found a different type of stability in the least likely place, in the least likely person.

“We’re good leaders together. He’s good for our people.”

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know that, Clarke." Clarke schools her face, intending to fake innocence, but Finn sees through and preempts her. "The marks on your neck make it pretty obvious you're with someone and I'm not an idiot. I can tell it's him.”

Of course Bellamy's intent had been to mark her the night before when his lips had so adamantly returned time and time again to her neck.

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Please just reassure me, Princess.”

The way he says the term of endearment makes Clarke’s entire body freeze and tense up. Her stomach seizes as well. She feels physically ill. She knows that Finn had created the nice form of that nickname before Bellamy had appropriated it in the early days as a condescending acknowledgement of Clarke’s past. Now, however, the term is entirely wound up in new meaning, meaning that Finn’s usage is defiling.

“Don’t call me that.” Clarke’s eyes shift away from him, her body tense.

Finn’s hand falls lightly on her shoulder and she feels him move closer.

“I need to go.”

Clarke stands up so abruptly it throws her off balance, but she ignores the head rush and walks away, body shaking. Her feet lead her to Bellamy’s tent and she is tempted to call him outside like she normally would, but instead she pushes inside. She finds him with his shoulders hunched messily mending a jacket. Every time he pulls the needle through it is a jerky, angry motion.

He doesn’t look up when she walks in.

“Be gentler or you’ll break the needle,” Clarke warns. She doesn’t mean to sound condescending but she knows it comes out that way when Bellamy shoves the needle through the material harder.

It snaps.

He throws the jacket aside muttering a curse.

That’s when Bellamy looks up and realizes that Clarke is shaking from her encounter with Finn. The pain and anger are still in his eyes but there is also a caring look on his face.

“Can we just work our feelings out on each other?” Clarke finds herself asking the question as they stare one another down. She knows she normally refuses to do anything in his tent, but once again they’re so far gone she doesn’t care that she is breaking down another boundary.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The words hang before both laugh humorlessly. “Not out of anger at least.”

Clarke walks forward, leaning into Bellamy she whispers, “I’m not asking for anything complicated. I just want to work out some frustration.” Bellamy’s hands find her sides, sliding down to her hips, pulling her closer as he stands up to bring their bodies together. “I want you to pull my hair, and I want your hand on my throat, and I want your teeth on me, and I really need you in me.”

Clarke’s uncharacteristic vocalizations seem to break down the last barrier.

Bellamy’s hands start out gentle at her sides but soon they are yanking her shirt over her head. Clarke’s hand balls up the collar of his shirt, pulling his lips down to hers.

They normally avoid kissing, at least mouth to mouth. Bellamy’s lips often find Clarke’s shoulder and her forehead in affection, but this is uncharacteristic. Neither fights it.

As the kiss deepens, Clarke’s hand loosens in his collar, shoving his shirt up, digging fingernails into his stomach when their lips break so that he can pull his shirt off. As Clarke’s fingernails dig and scratch the length of his stomach Bellamy drops his mouth back to her, groaning against her lips.

It’s a frenzy of kissing, biting, and clothing removal after that.

“Is that the best you can do?” Clarke baits when Bellamy pushes her body down to the bed.

“Oh, I’m just getting started, Princess.”

The way he bites out the name makes Clarke feel like she is being cleansed of the way Finn had said it.

Bellamy's fingers slide to her entrance running over the swollen flesh. "You're so goddamn wet Clarke. Listen."

Clarke listens.

She can hear how wet she is as he pumps a finger in and out of her. She sits up enough to grab his shoulder and pull him back to her, his fingers falling away from her. She does something she normally wouldn't be bold enough to do after that. She pulls the finger that was inside of her to her mouth. Bellamy groans and she feels his hips fall to her. A litany of curses and praises fall from his lips as he watches her.

There isn’t time for a lot of foreplay as Clarke continues to speak around his finger in her mouth. “Fuck me, Bell. I need all of you in me.”

Bellamy complies.

The fingers that had been in her mouth had traveled to rest at her side while his other hand had wrapped into her hair, giving it a sharp tug anytime Clarke verbalized a need for more pain. Clarke wraps her fingers around the wrist of the hand now at her side and pulls it towards her throat, situating it like she wants it. Bellamy picks up on the cue. His fingers tentatively at first wraps around her throat. He doesn’t apply much pressure, but the feeling of fingers around her throat gives Clarke that familiar feeling of restraint that can so easily make her come undone. Her hand falls to her clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles as Bellamy begins to thrust faster and harder.

His fingers don’t restrain any airflow, but Clarke’s breath is coming in gasps as the fingers of her free hand dig into the forearm of the hand around her throat. “So good,” Clarke moans, coaxing Bellamy on.

She fall over the edge begging Bellamy to make it hurt.

He complies, riding out his orgasm while simultaneously pushing Clarke through a second.

Neither speaks when they are done. Neither has anything to say. What they just did says everything that needs to be said.


	16. A New Crop of Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot. Short, simple, lots of internal conflict.

Clarke wakes up during the early morning to Bellamy’s fingers wound together with hers. Clarke slowly unwinds them, then coaxes her body away from his. She slowly and carefully crawls from the bed and quietly dresses so as not to wake Bellamy. She can’t stay in his tent. It makes her feel dirty. She doesn’t like to think about being just another fuck even though she knows that’s what she is. Something about his tent just makes her stomach churn.

She makes it almost to her tent when she hears Miller say, “Are you okay, Clarke? It's late.”

She sighs. Of course Miller is one of the guards on duty.

“I’m fine.”

“Is it about Finn?”

“No.” Clarke is glad to know that she can confidently say that, while she still has to confront Finn, her current turmoil is not rooted in any Finn related trauma. She is very much not glad to realize that another person is occupying her thoughts. A new crop of feelings that she doesn’t know how to identify rising up within her, a new crop of thoughts and questions plaguing her.

“That’s good. I think if you got back with Finn, Blake might have a heart attack.”

Clarke almost blanches at the comment. There is no way that Bellamy would have mentioned their involvement to Miller. They’re friends, probably best friends, but Bellamy wasn’t one to kiss, or in this case fuck, and tell.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. He’s been mooning over you since he first saw you.”

Clarke relaxes, then tenses again thinking of the implications of his words. Afraid of allowing the conversation to continue, Clarke says, “Get back to work, Miller.”

Clarke decides that she needs to get back to her own tent where she can over-analyze everything in peace.

She sits in her tent, knees pulled up to her chest. She sits there until her tent turns a pale pink with the early morning sun and she sits there as the sun rises in the sky. She finds it hard to motivate herself when so much is going on. No one is in danger of starvation, freezing, or grounders at the moment and without that edge of danger her own personal problems feel like they are swallowing her.


	17. This Is The Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn/Clarke convo. Feelings and stuff.
> 
> Only lightly edited. Point out errors if you find them, please!

Clarke knows she has to move, has to leave her tent at some point, but she doesn’t attempt to until Octavia calls gently in to her telling her that Finn has developed symptoms of a stomach virus. Clarke had assumed this might happen with the reintroduction of the delinquents high protein diet after the mostly green diet he had been eating.

When Clarke reaches the second level of the dropship, Octavia in tow, she has to stop to catch her breath. She feels like her problems are once again crashing in and suffocating her.

She is pulled out of this by Finn lurching over a tin bucket, dry heaving.

Clarke averts her eyes, glancing back to Octavia who is visibly cringing.

“Go downstairs and don’t let anybody up here, okay? I need make sure it’s just his body readjusting.” Clarke regrets leaving herself alone with Finn, but also acknowledges that he can only make her feel so uncomfortable while hunched over a bucket puking up his guts. She thinks that maybe it levels the playing field a little.

Octavia nods and hurries back down the stairs, happy not to have to continue watching Finn retch into a bucket. Clarke approaches him as he slowly rights his body to a sitting position on the makeshift mattress he is seated on. His eyes are blood shot and his lips are cracked. He tries to offer a smile, but the quivering muscles in his face won’t let him.

“Can I ask you a couple questions?”

“If you’ll hold my hair back next time I puke.” His voice is rough and broken, she can hear it strain as he speaks. A small mischievous look finds residence in his eyes and Clarke isn’t sure whether slapping, chewing him out, or letting him wallow in his sickness is a better course of action.

To avoid having to choose a course of action, Clarke chooses to say, “Finn,” in what she hopes is a warning tone. She doesn’t want to witness Finn being the same person he was before he left. She wants to imagine that the Finn who has returned is truly irredeemable in every single way, truly separate from the Finn who broke her heart.

“Ask away.”

Clarke begins to question the symptoms, their longevity, and their extremity. She easily rules out hangover, disease from outside, and outright food poisoning. She’s happy to realize that her initial assumption is correct. She is also happy that that means she can let the sickness run it’s course and force someone else to keep him hydrated while she returns to avoiding him.

She is just about to do that when Finn's voice stop her.

“You never answered me last night.”

Clarke stops walking away and turns back to Finn. She levels her eyes on him, arches an eyebrow, and hums in inquiry.

“Is he good for you?” Finn's voice is still straining but there is some power behind it, some true interest.

Clarke is tired of hiding things and she knows that Finn isn’t a gossip. She knows that whatever she tells him now might well go to his grave, so she says, “He’s really good for me. We’re really good together.”

“I’m glad. I saw you go to his tent last night when you left.” Clarke searches Finn’s face. There is no hostility. There’s only exhaustion and sadness. “How serious is it between you and Bellamy?”

Clarke finds this question harder to answer. She knows what what they are doing is labeled. She knows it’s just fucking, but she also knows that there is a lot of emotion involved no matter what those emotions truly are. She knows the trust they have to put in one another for their dynamic to function makes it something more than just fucking, but she also knows that she doesn’t get to assign it arbitrary labels just because trust and feelings are involved. She also knows that a huge part of their leadership roles tie up with all the other factors, further complicating the arrangement.

“This is the ground, Finn. You know relationships here are different. Bellamy means so much and is so many different things in my life.” Finn nods in understanding. Clarke hopes he understands that she also means that this is the ground and she wants to forgive him. She wants to forgive him for getting involved with her because she knows he didn’t believe he would ever see Raven again. This is the ground and she wants to tell everybody that if they are fulfilled then that is all that matters. She wants to make herself believe it.

“I should have fought for you.”

The words don't shock Clarke as much as she thinks they should. She is used to this type of display from Finn. He's a romantic.

Despite this knowledge, Clarke searches Finn’s face once again. She still finds no hostility, no blame, nothing except exhaustion and what she thinks might be a little regret.

They are silent before Clarke finally turns away to go downstairs. She feels some sense of resolution, her problems don’t feel so suffocating.

She knows she still needs to find the answer to Finn’s question. She needs to understand what exactly she and Bellamy are, but she also knows that she is okay with just being with Bellamy for now. She is okay pushing aside questions. She is okay acknowledging that it’s easier to create new relationships on the ground than to dwell on old dichotomies. The ground isn’t stagnant and it isn’t empathetic, so Clarke knows that she is lucky to have found someone who can make it just a little more stable and just a little warmer. For now, she will accept it.


	18. I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So BIG WARNINGS HERE.
> 
> First, mentions of knife play. No actual knife play here, but there is simulated knife play.
> 
> Second, Clarke goes pretty deep sub-space/Bellamy doesn't check in/things unhinge a little.

That acceptance allows Clarke to return to her routine for the next several weeks. She attends to medical, avoids Finn to the best of her abilities, discusses logistics with Bellamy, and they seek each other out whenever everyday life becomes too all-consuming. It’s mundane and it’s safe in the only way those two terms can be used to describe what she and Bellamy have.

Clarke has reinstated her refusal to be in his tent for more than a handful of minutes and Bellamy’s response to that has been to increasingly spend the night in hers; Clarke isn’t complaining.

Clarke is sitting sketching a new area onto an old map. She isn’t surprised when Bellamy slips into her tent, and she doesn’t question it when Bellamy sits down at her feet, back against her bed, pulling out a knife and a rock to sharpen it. Clarke stalls for a second to think of how domestic their actions could be perceived by an outsider, but continues to sketch the map. She has to finish it before she gets distracted and as part of her mind strays she knows distraction is highly likely.

When Clarke does finish the map she rolls it up and places it and the new pencil she had scavenged aside. Bellamy doesn’t stop sharpening the knife. He is meticulous with it, turning it over and over in his hand, buffing away at tiny imperfections, running it along his forearm at every angle possible.

Clarke’s body feels like it’s buzzing when she thinks about what he could do with that knife. They had talked about exploring some new things and this was very high on both of their lists. As Clarke’s eyes zero in on the knife in Bellamy’s hand she almost moans.

Bellamy’s head snaps around when he hears Clarke suppress the moan in her throat. A wicked grin is on his face. Their eyes meet and Clarke feels like hers are begging him to do something.

She isn’t surprised when he slowly turns away from her, continuing to meticulously sharpen the knife. She also isn’t surprised when her entire body heats up as she watches him.

Clarke begins to squirm, but something is barring her from simply stripping her body herself, something is mentally stopping her from touching herself or actively chasing the friction she needs. She realizes what that something is when Bellamy says in a commanding tone, “You can touch yourself.”

Clarke shimmies out of the underwear she has been wearing, grateful that she had shucked off her pants upon entering the tent earlier that evening.

Underwear cast aside Clarke’s fingers begin to trail through the curls between her legs, nails scraping across the junction of her inner thighs. Clarke offers a soft moan for show when Bellamy doesn’t stop meticulously sharpening the knife in his hand. She smirks a little when his back tenses.

He doesn’t turn around just says, “Better keep quiet or someone might get suspicious.”

“What if I don’t care?”

The question seems to make Bellamy’s entire body freeze. Clarke isn’t sure where the comment came from, but part of her realizes that she does care less about who knows. She doesn’t want to flaunt it around camp, but she feels like if Miller or Harper walk by on their night shift and hear a moan or two it won’t be the end of the world.

Bellamy places the knife to the side and slowly turns to Clarke whose hand is no longer pleasuring herself, but resting against her thigh, fingers digging in at her confession. Their eyes meet and in seconds Bellamy is cradling Clarke’s face in his hand, lips pressing against hers. The kiss is soft, full of emotion that Clarke refuses to allow herself to focus on.

By nature of their relationship and Bellamy’s personality when the kiss turns passionate, Bellamy breaks away and whispers, “Since you don’t mind someone hearing, I plan to make you scream,” into Clarke’s ear.

Clarke entire body lights on fire at the words and at the feeling of Bellamy’s fingers simultaneously finding the space between her legs. “Were you this wet before I touched you?” Clarke hums in affirmation as Bellamy’s fingers drag ridiculously slowly over her. As one finger slowly penetrates her, Bellamy asks, “How much of this is because of the knife?”

Clarke moans when he inserts a second finger also sickeningly slow, curling them up, then holding them still, waiting for Clarke’s response. Clarke tries to angle her hips but Bellamy’s free hand resting on her hip stops her as much mentally as physically. Her admission has opened up a new game to Bellamy; make Clarke vocalize in exchange for contact.

“A lot.”

“Use your words, Princess.”

“Seeing you with the knife and thinking about what you could do to me with it got me really turned on,” Clarke explains as Bellamy’s thumb comes to rest over her clit.

“What were you thinking of me doing to you, Princess?”

His thumb slows down as he waits for Clarke to pull her thoughts into sentences.

“I don’t think I want you to cut me enough to bleed, but I was imagining you running it across my breasts. How you would be in complete control, running it just deep enough to make red lines, marking me. I would be completely at your mercy. I get off on pain and you get off on giving it to me, and it would be just the right amount of stinging to get both of us off.” Bellamy’s thumb had sped up as she spoke and now the nails of his free hand find her breast, raking across it like she had described. If she closes her eyes she can imagine it’s the knife.

“Talk through it.” Bellamy’s voice might as well be a command. He doesn’t let up on the scratches he is leaving on her chest or the pressure between her thighs; two fingers buried inside her, thumb rubbing in tight circles.

“I need more.”

“More what?”

“Need more inside of me.” Bellamy responds by adding a third digit. Clarke’s legs fall wider apart as a moan forms in her throat. Her mind is racing as she convinces herself, eyes closed, that the stinging marks of Bellamy’s nails are actually the stinging bite of a blade. She feels like she is entirely overcome by the sensations and she doesn't think she could speak if she wanted to.

Bellamy’s nails close in on one nipple, trailing just the nail across the bud. Clarke feels a high-pitched gasp leave her body. The second time the nail passes across her nipple it’s harder and Clarke’s mind paints a picture of her breast scored with soft red lines, of her nipple not bleeding but worried from the blade. Clarke is suddenly writhing under Bellamy’s hands, eyes closed hard.

“Come back to me. I’m right here, Princess.” Bellamy slowly talks Clarke through the orgasm until she opens her eyes. Her body is shaking and she can feel a few tears squeeze out of her eyes. Bellamy is grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around Clarke’s shoulder before she can comprehend what is happening. He rubs her hands which are shaking and tries not to crowd her, afraid she might feel trapped.

When Clarke regains the ability to control her body she pulls Bellamy closer to her as though by instinct. She really needs him to ground her. She feels small and there is no embarrassment on her part when she curls into Bellamy’s side.

When the shaking dies down a bit Clarke feels the need to explain herself, latent embarrassment surfacing. “My mind convinced me you had actually gotten the knife.”

Clarke feels a little stupid and a little confused. Bellamy had told her that he was interested in using the knife, but that he didn’t trust himself enough not to hurt her. He had said that they could talk about it, use the idea of it as foreplay, but that he would not touch her with it. She feels stupid that part of her mind had doubted that.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke shakes her head ready to tell Bellamy he has no reason to be sorry, but he continues, “I should have made sure you were okay with me pretending to have the knife. I didn’t check in and that’s on me, Clarke.”

Both fall silent.

Clarke wraps her fingers around two of Bellamy’s and squeezes them, sensing the need that both of them have to check in. Bellamy slowly turns his hand over. Clarke laces her fingers through his. Then, they fall silent once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for angst.


	19. Do The Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot. A little Bellamy POV as well.

Clarke wakes up to an empty bed the next morning, something she seldom does anymore. She assumes Bellamy thought of something pressing, had to relieve himself, or is otherwise occupied. Needless to say it isn’t too worrying and she doesn’t spend much time thinking about it.

She does start to think about it, however, when she realizes he is adamantly avoiding her. Every time she walks within his line of sight, Bellamy suddenly finds something he needs to briskly walk away and do. She feels a little spurned, but reminds herself that she doesn’t get to feel that way. She feels a little embarrassed about her loss of control the night before. That feeling isn’t off limits, so she allows it to occupy her mind.

 

When Bellamy is still avoiding Clarke two days later, Octavia decides it’s too much for her to handle and tracks down Bellamy who is in a near screaming match with one of the younger guards who was apparently sleeping at their post. There were some choice words said and some interesting threats made before the kid used the distraction Octavia gave to scamper back up into the guard post they had been positioned at.

“What do you need, O? I’m a little busy.”

“I need you to get your shit together.” Bellamy is ready to retort something he hopes will be sufficiently biting, if not a little petty, when Octavia continues to talk. “Avoiding Clarke isn’t doing either of you any good. You look like shit, Bell.”

Bellamy knows that one of those statements is true. He’s sure he looks like shit. He hasn’t slept in two days and avoiding Clarke is one of the most mentally and emotionally taxing things he has done in a while. He hadn’t realized just how everywhere she was until he had begun to actively avoid her. “Avoiding Clarke is good for her.”

“Explain that logic.” Octavia's hands fall to her hips as her stance widens, daring Bellamy to say something she might deem stupid.

Bellamy finds himself flailing for words now that he is on the spot. He knows his reason, but he can’t talk about it with his sister. He knows despite Clarke’s words, she isn’t okay with sharing the nature of their relationship. She isn’t okay sharing what their relationship used to be, Bellamy corrects himself. As far as Octavia is concerned, Bellamy assumes she is worried that the two leaders disagreed over which guards should get night shift.

“I know about you two. I guessed and Clarke confirmed.”

Bellamy feels the tension in his body shift. Now there is no excuse not to explain the situation. It would have been easier to lie about a leadership misunderstanding.

“I’m not good enough for her, O. I didn’t check in with her and make sure she was okay. I really fucked up and I can’t put her in that kind of danger again.”

“Is she mad at you?”

Bellamy shakes his head. At least, he doesn’t think she is mad. She might be mad at him now, avoiding her like he is, but he knows it’s for her safety. He has braced himself for confrontation at some point. He just wants some time to distance himself from the way she makes him feel before they have to have the confrontation. He wants both of them to have some distance, so Clarke can tell him how fucked up he is and so that he can accept it when she says it.

“So, this is entirely because you are afraid you won’t stop at the right time in the future?”

Bellamy nods. It's more complicated than that, but if he has to summarize the feeling in one sentence, Octavia does a pretty good job.

“You’ve definitely blown it this time.”

Bellamy feels like he has been punched in the stomach at his sister’s words. “I know. Now, can I get back to work?” He wants to wallow and be told how disgusting he is by Clarke, not by his sister.

“No, you can’t because you’ve definitely blown it by not being there for Clarke these past couple days. She is embarrassed that she overreacted and is totally convinced you want someone more experienced. She told me that she gets lost in her head a lot and that she's pretty sure you would be happier with someone you had to worry less about.”

“She didn’t overreact.” Bellamy doesn’t mean to sound so vicious when he says the words, but he hates the implication that Clarke might be in the wrong for reacting and he hates that she might think that. He wants to argue away every last point Octavia has made, but she stops him.

“I’m sure she didn’t, but if you’re here beating yourself up because you didn’t stop and she’s beating herself up, then maybe you two should at least talk it out. Figure out what you both want.”

Octavia walks past Bellamy then and he doesn’t even have the energy to yell at her when she slips through one of the foxholes out of camp. He feels bad, feels like he can’t keep anyone safe despite that being his only goal throughout his entire life, to keep people safe. Octavia is my responsibility, he reminds himself. Clarke's well-being is my responsibility, the camp's well-being is my responsibility. It's an endless litany in his head.

Despite Octavia’s wisdom, Bellamy doesn’t find himself face to face with Clarke. Instead, he finds himself sharing a flask with Miller as he pours his heart out.

“So, you’ve been hooking up in increasingly kinky ways and now you’re afraid you’ve broken her trust in you?”

“No. Everyone wants to assume I’m avoiding her because of how she might feel. I’m afraid that I haven’t completely broken her trust, but that I’ve broken my trust in myself. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt her in any way she didn’t want.” Bellamy hates himself a little for having to modify that sentence. He hates that he gets off on hurting her, hates that as long as she is enjoying it he likes to see her face torn between pain and pleasure.

“I don’t know how getting drunk with me is going to fix your trust in yourself, man. I’m going to go back to my tent after this and fall asleep with the love of my life. You should figure out how to do the same.”

Bellamy wants to argue that he doesn’t get to ‘do the same’, that he and Clarke aren’t dealing with an emotional relationship based on a foundation of love, that the only feelings involved are trust and that if he has broken that trust with her or with himself, he has lost the relationship. He can’t argue any of that, however, because part of Bellamy really likes pretending that when he gets to sleep in her tent with her wrapped in his arms, when she accepts his praises and confessions of need, there is something more than just sex and power exchange happening between them.

Miller stands up, claps Bellamy on the back, and walks away. It’s getting late, the sun is falling below the horizon and people are beginning to trickle away from the fire around which dinner had been served. Bellamy sits, flask in hand, contemplating his next move. He knows that for Clarke’s safety he needs to stay away, but he also doesn’t know if he is strong enough to stay away, especially with so many people pushing him to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst isn't over yet!
> 
> Also, let's just say that 'the love of [Miller's] life' is one special Monty Green.


	20. I Need You, Okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot. Angst. You know the drill.

Bellamy and Clarke both get tired of the avoidance at the same time; about two hours before daybreak the next day. They meet halfway between both of their tents for the same reason. Both had awoken alone for the fourth time in as many days, and neither could fall back asleep or find anything to occupy the hours until the camp awoke without the other being present.

They’re also both silent when they finally come face to face, the well-planned speeches both had prepared completely falling from their minds.

Clarke has the forethought to say, “We should do this in private.”

Bellamy nods. “Let’s go to the dropship.”

Clarke feels a sting at the suggestion. She knows that the dropship is a neutral zone. She knows that he is doing everything short of saying they won’t be returning to her tent. Clarke nods anyways. They need to have this conversation and Clarke doesn't want to get hung up on the small stuff.

They walk in silence to the dropship. Once inside, after checking for other people, Bellamy speaks up. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Clarke feels her chest split in half, her stomach drop. She had prepared herself for the direction she had presumed the conversation would take, but hearing the words spoken so bluntly hurts. She searches Bellamy’s face, but she can’t seem to retrieve any emotion. It’s blank and that hurts as much as the words.

“Okay.” Clarke works to school her tone and face.

“It’s also completely okay if you want to tell me I’m disgusting. You deserve to feel that way about me.”

Clarke feels like she is getting whiplash. She is confused by this addition. She might have been able to walk away with the hopes of her dignity in tact if he had said anything else, but now she has to continue the conversation despite her seemingly better judgement.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because it’s true. Because I get off on some really sick shit and I didn’t stop when you needed me to.”

“Wait. Is that what this is?” Clarke feels almost relieved. She isn’t comfortable enough in her assessment for her chest to stop aching or her mind to stop racing, but she is hopeful once again. “Is this one of your self-hate spells?” Bellamy averts his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Clarke decides to take the risk. She approaches him slowly until she is within a foot of him. “Vocalize.” She repeats what he so often reminds her.

“I’m supposed to be the strong one. I’m supposed to check in with you and I’m supposed to know when I might be pushing you too far. I didn’t do any of that. I failed.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Bell. You are supposed to check in and you are supposed to make sure I’m okay. I wasn’t completely okay, but there was also no warning for it. I didn’t realize I wasn’t okay until you had already stopped, okay?”

“But I shouldn’t have pushed you to that limit.”

“Neither of us knew that was a limit. You’ve seen me go nonverbal and be completely fine dozens of times. We’ll just be more careful in the future, we’ll plan more or talk more or less or whatever makes this okay with you.” Clarke decides to pull out one final card before she resigns herself to Bellamy’s initial wish to end it all. “I need you, okay? I know I talk about needing you to make it hurt and needing you inside me and needing you for whatever I’m lacking at the moment, but I also need you in my life as a person. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed waking up to you and I’ve missed eating lunch together and I’ve missed yelling at you. You really are the most important person in my life, whatever role you are playing.”

The confession seems to awaken something in Bellamy because his arms uncross, falling to his sides and his mask drops just a little more.

“I don’t trust myself right now. I need you to make sure I don’t fuck up, Clarke. I really need you to make sure I don't fuck this up.”

Clarke nods. She understands that for Bellamy this goes against everything he has been groomed to believe about himself. As a child, teenager, young adult he has always been told that he is responsible for everything and that any harm that comes to things he cares is just another sign of his failing as a person. He has been taught that he, as a person, has no worth except that which the things he protects bestow upon him. He’s whispered those confessions to her in the middle of the night and now, as she sees the torn apart man in front of her, she thinks she understands it better than she ever has.


	21. Give Me Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, Simple, Necessary Plot.

“Give me signals.”

The demand is seemingly out of the blue, but Clarke has been thinking about Bellamy's request. He had asked her to make sure he doesn't fuck up. Clarke knows that making Bellamy feel mentally safeguarded is the key, so she had decided to make him give her signals. There isn't any reason, Clarke has decided, that just because she is the one submitting to Bellamy that she should be the only one who gets to check in if a scene gets to be too much.

Bellamy is sorting out animal hides and pelts into piles that could be used for blankets, coats, and tent covers when Clarke approaches him. Bellamy mutters something that Clarke knows means he is half-listening and won't remember what she says by the time she walks away.

Clarke pulls the hide from his hands and places it back onto the pile in front of him. “Signals. If you don’t trust yourself, then I told you we’ll work through it. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.” Bellamy answers as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, his attention now entirely focused on Clarke.

“Then give me signals. Words preferably.”

Bellamy looks like he is about to question it, but then sighs and says, “Achilles for stop. Eratones means I’m okay.”

Clarke nods, face set into serious lines. If Bellamy doesn't trust himself, then Clarke has decided that he will just have to trust her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that for a lot of Dominant partners pushing the submissive partner to a limit or over a limit without realizing it can be really trippy for their minds, especially since Bellamy is mostly inexperienced and also has a serious case of self-hate. Clarke was mostly unbothered by the situation because Bellamy's aftercare allowed her to come back from that limit pretty quickly once she realized their wasn't anything to be guilty about. I do think this is more of a mental thing for Bellamy. I don't know, I just felt this disclaimer was necessary for continuing this story with all readers in the correct mindset seeing as most fics do overlook any vulnerability on the part of the Dominant partner.


	22. Eratones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough sex ahead. Facefucking is a thing again, also my first attempt at actual dirty talk. More to come in the future.

Things are a little different for a few days. Clarke and Bellamy dance around each other, they throw themselves fully into working and watching after the camp. By the end of the week Bellamy has a comprehensive new guard schedule, Clarke has fully restocked medical, and they’ve got all the furs, pelts, and hides completely separated. It might be the most productive either has been in weeks.

Despite this, Clarke wakes up with Bellamy at her side more often than not and as far as anyone looking from the outside in could tell, everything is normal. Clarke decides that that might be the problem, that everything is too normal, that Bellamy is afraid of holding her too tight much less fucking her the way she needs.

“This is too domestic,” Clarke says when she walks into her tent to find Bellamy sitting down, mending the jacket which he hadn’t gotten around to finishing after snapping the needle several weeks before.

Bellamy’s hands still. Clarke’s glad he isn’t risking breaking another needle; they are running low after all.

“I need you to stop being afraid you’ll cross a line. You pushed me to an edge, but you didn’t push me over the edge, okay?” Bellamy is silent, and Clarke can feel annoyance rising up in her chest. “Dammit, Bellamy. We made a deal that we would talk things through and if either of us realized whatever we have doesn’t work we would both back off. Just tell me if you’re out so I can move on.”

“I’m not out, Clarke.” Bellamy lays the jacket aside and Clarke can’t help but notice the parallels between this scenario and the knife scenario. “If you still want to do this, tell me what you need tonight.” Bellamy’s voice has an edge to it for the first time in days and Clarke both loves and hates the thrill it sends down her spine.

“Really rough sex. Nothing too methodical, I just want you to fuck me as hard as you can; make it hurt, make me beg. I want you to do what gets you off.”

Bellamy stands up and extends two fingers to Clarke who squeezes them. “Say the words, snap twice, either way I’ll stop,” Bellamy clarifies. Clarke is about to say something in affirmation when Bellamy’s hand wraps up in her hair, tugging it hard enough to shock the words out of Clarke’s mouth.

Bellamy’s mouth is hot and heavy on hers, tongue pushing into her mouth almost immediately. The kiss is dominating, it’s possessive. It sends heat throughout Clarke’s body. One of Bellamy’s hands is rough on Clarke’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh there hard enough to leave bruises. When Clarke breaks the seal of their mouths for a gasp of breath, Bellamy’s teeth sink into her bottom lip finding immediate purchase, eliciting a yelp which turns to a groan from Clarke.

Clarke’s hands are roaming Bellamy’s sides, fingernails finding purchase across his stomach. She curls her nails into his flesh when he tightens the hold he has on her hair, pulling her neck back so he can attach his lips to the column of her throat.

Teeth rake across it before Bellamy shocks Clarke by dropping the hair he had kept constant pressure on. He roughly unbuttons Clarke’s pants, yanks her shirt over her head, then brings their lips back together.

Disrobing is a mess of teeth and lips after that.

When both are naked Bellamy’s hand finds Clarke’s hair again. He presses a searing kiss to her lips before tightening the hold and pushing down a little. Clarke takes the hint and sinks to her knees. She isn’t the biggest fan of giving blow jobs, but she does enjoy when Bellamy takes control of them.

He does just that, bringing his length to her mouth, pressing it against her lips. Clarke opens her already swollen lips. She feels the head press past her lips and makes a point to flick her tongue over it. The low groan Bellamy makes spurs Clarke on. Bellamy gives Clarke time to adjust to the feeling of him in her mouth, lets her take him shallowly and hollow her cheeks around him before he says, “Eratones,” and holds out two fingers. Clarke squeezes the fingers and is glad that Bellamy is using his words to check in as well.

Once the signals pass between them Bellamy says, “You want it rough? Well, Princess, I can do rough.” His fingers tighten on her hair, pulling her mouth further down onto his length. Clarke’s knees are on the ground and she wishes she could see herself kneeling in front of Bellamy, his hand in her hair, pulling her mouth onto his cock.

Bellamy allows himself to groan when Clarke hollows her cheeks around him despite the slight fluttering of her gag reflex. Clarke taps Bellamy’s hip twice, their agreed upon signal that she can take more. Bellamy pulls out, letting Clarke run her tongue across his tip for a moment before pushing back into her mouth. He keeps up a steady rhythm, bumping into Clarke’s gag reflex every so often.

Small tears form in the corners of Clarke’s eyes but she spurs him on, tapping his hip if she thinks his thrusts are faltering. Clarke doesn’t like giving blow jobs, but she loves being used by Bellamy in this way.

Bellamy pulls out of her mouth when he feels his thrusts become erratic. Clarke squeezes two fingers sensing the need to check in. The moment she squeezes his fingers, Bellamy’s hands are hauling her up, one in her hair and the other clutching her shoulder. The pull in her hair makes Clarke moan as Bellamy pushes her onto the bed face down. He isn’t gentle when he grabs her ankles, pulling her up onto her knees, ass facing him.

Bellamy runs his fingers over Clarke and she can’t help but let out a filthy moan when he pushes a finger in and she can hear how wet she is.

“Did me tossing you around get you this wet?”

“I like when you use me for your pleasure. I get really wet when you fuck my mouth.”

Clarke’s vocalization goes straight to Bellamy’s cock. She knows because not only does she hear a groan from Bellamy, but she also feels his fingers surge into her.

“God, you’re perfect,” Bellamy mutters, lining himself up at her entrance. Clarke feels her walls flutter as Bellamy pushes in just the head. Clarke loves the initial feeling of Bellamy penetrating her, of him stretching her out. He knows this and stops with just the head resting inside of her.

Bellamy trails his hands across Clarke’s back, one plants firmly in the center, pushing her breasts into the mattress while simultaneously keeping her still. The other hands moves to the place where their bodies connect, his thumb rubbing across the skin that is stretched around him. Clarke gasps. Bellamy groans as Clarke’s walls squeeze him.

In a single stroke Bellamy buries himself into Clarke. The sudden invasion has Clarke biting down onto her arm to keep from screaming. "What do you want, Princess?" He holds still waiting for an answer.

“Hold me down, Bell. I want to feel used,” Clarke says, voice pleading. The hand in the center of Clarke’s back press a little harder as the other clutches her hip for leverage, pleased with her answer.

His hips start out slow, thrusting deep and hard, pushing all the way in before pulling all the way out. Clarke can feel herself coming undone as Bellamy pushes her upper body into the mattress, speeding up his thrusts, keeping them just as hard. His hips begin to angle down a bit, effectively fucking Clarke into the mattress before he changes the angle, thrusting up in a battery of hard movements. Clarke falls over the edge with a scream she muffles into the bed. Bellamy slows his thrusts until she comes back to him.

When she is back he twists the hand that had been pushing her into the mattress into her hair. He yanks it back, pulling Clarke into a position she can use her hands to prop up her upper body. With her hands securing her position, Bellamy uses the hand in her hair for leverage and snakes the hand that had been on her hip to her front, rubbing a finger against her sensitive clit.

"You're so good. I can feel your walls tighten around me every time I pull your hair. You're so good, Princess. I love seeing you open for me like this, ready to fucking do anything to make me feel good. Fucking you with your face pressed into the mattress was beautiful, Princess. God, you should have seen yourself trying to hold back, face buried in the mattress."

Clarke can't help but moan as Bellamy continues to say filthy things, not bothering to drop his tone to a whisper anymore, punctuating the more filthy comments with harder thrusts or tugs of Clarke's hair to emphasize his point.

“Cum for me again, Princess,” Bellamy says, voice in the register that Clarke associates with a command. He presses a little too hard against her clit for it to be all pleasure, but it sends Clarke over the edge this time biting down onto her lip to muffle her moans as the pain and pleasure mix between his thrusts, his finger on her clit, and his hand in her hair. Bellamy finds himself following not far behind her, tightening his grip in Clarke's hair causing her to let out a litany of small gasps and whines which only seems to spur Bellamy on.

“Give me your word,” Clarke says when Bellamy rests his forehead against her back.

“Eratones,” Bellamy says reaching out one of his hands for Clarke to squeeze the fingers. Signals given, both can’t help but smile and be thankful for what they have in each other. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, Princess. Don't ever let me question that again."


End file.
